Laws of Navigation
by jelenamichel
Summary: NCIS and the Coast Guard join forces to investigate the cold case of a sailor's death on a cruise ship. With no solid leads to help them, the agents must go undercover in the Caribbean to catch a killer. Lots of Tony and Ziva-ness amongst all the case work.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here's a new case fic, but because it's one of my stories it includes some Tony and Ziva rrrrromance! It also includes a lot of Borin, because I love her. It's set at the end of season 10, but without all the quitting and without the events of** _ **Shabbat Shalom**_ **, etc. So I guess out of canon.**

 **It started out as a sequel to my story** _ **Rapture**_ **. I will make references to things that happened in** _ **Rapture**_ **, and that fic sort of sets up the closeness between Tony and Ziva in this story. But you don't really need to read it to understand what's happening here.**

 **Also, longtime readers of my stories know that I try to weave little bits and pieces from my stories into each other. So if something seems familiar, that's why.**

 **Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

* * *

"Tonight it's very clear."

"As we're both lying here."

McGee grinned as he listened to Tony and Abby's trip back to their teen years, and couldn't resist joining in himself. "There's so many things I want to say."

The three of them looked across the bullpen at Ziva who was typing quickly at her computer. For a moment it seemed as though she hadn't been paying attention to their game, but after the silence dragged on for just a little too long, she paused her typing, looked up and shrugged at them.

"I have no idea what song this is," she said. "I am out."

Tony sighed with regret on her behalf. What kind of childhood did she have that she couldn't even find the time to watch _The Karate Kid II_? He took the line for her. "I will always love you."

Abby, perched on the corner of McGee's desk, clasped her hands together and sang the next line. "I would never leave you alone."

Tony held up his finger. "Isn't it 'I would never make it alone'?" he asked. The line triggered something in his memory and his eyes were pulled in Ziva's direction. He had said something to her once with a similar sentiment, and he wondered if Ziva heard it too. But she just looked back at him blankly. The trigger was his alone.

"It's 'leave you'," Abby said confidently, cutting into his thoughts. She was backed up by another, huskier voice.

"Definitely 'leave you'," Abigail Borin said, appearing at the mouth of the bullpen. "I slow-danced to that song with Michael Mendez at one of my junior high dances." She pointed to her temple. "It's burned into my memory."

Abby took Borin's appearance in stride and gave her a salacious grin. "Was he cute?"

Borin smirked at the girl talk, but played it up with a girl, please eye roll. "The cutest. He dressed like Blaine from Pretty in Pink."

Abby laughed out loud. "So did Tony," she said, pointing at her friend. "He totally had Andrew McCarthy hair. I think I've got a photo," she said, and pulled her phone out of her pocket to start searching her folders.

"It was 1986 and I looked awesome," Tony argued.

"Did you still have the big glasses?" McGee asked.

Tony ignored his attempt to make fun of him. "No, I had contacts by then."

Ziva frowned at him with interest. "Weren't you in military school in 1986? How did you get away with long hair in military school?"

He flashed a smile at her. "I was a rebel."

Ziva smiled back with something bordering on affection and then looked up at Borin. "Are you visiting or working?"

Borin leaned against the partition beside Ziva's desk. "Working. I had a meeting with Agent O'Malley."

The team gave a collective wince. O'Malley was old, sexist, pretty racist and generally disagreeable. Borin nodded back knowingly and then looked at Ziva.

"You free for a drink tonight?"

Ziva perked up immediately at the prospect of spending some time with her newest friend and bar buddy, and smiled. "Yes."

Borin eyeballed Abby and McGee. "How about you two?"

Abby paused from her exploration of her phone for a photo of 15-year-old Tony to look up and shake her head with regret. "No, we can't. Me and McGee have plans to hide a sausage."

Three sets of eyes turned to McGee, whose cheeks immediately turned red.

"Are you two dating?" Borin asked, point blank.

Abby looked genuinely confused, and it was left to McGee to explain.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, no. She's talking about a literal sausage. It's this thing we're doing for a soup kitchen downtown."

Abby bounced to her feet and spread her arms towards the other three. "You guys should come along! It'll be fun!"

Tony caught Ziva's eye, and she returned his discreet grimace. It wasn't that he was against helping the less fortunate. He did it a lot by way of his work. But he kind of wanted to go out for a drink with Ziva and Borin instead. Was that too hard to accept?

Fortunately Borin was on the same wavelength. "Yeah, that sounds great. But I had my heart set on getting drunk tonight, so maybe another time."

Abby shrugged it off, accepting it better than she would have if it had been Tony or Ziva rejecting her plan. Tony made a mental note to keep Borin on standby whenever he had to deliver bad news to his emotional friend, and then looked up at Borin with an expectant smile. Where was his official invite for a few drinks?

Borin stared back at him with a playful smirk, and it looked like she was going to have some fun stringing him along for a bit. She ended up having pity before he expected it.

"Are you soup kitchening too?"

"No, I'm not."

Borin shared a look with Ziva, who was wearing her patented Mona Lisa smile. He knew he was in. "You want to join me and David for a drink?" she asked him.

"Oh, yes please," he said politely. "That sounds nice."

Borin nodded and pushed herself upright off the partition. "Okay, good. We'll need a designated driver," she said, and then left the bullpen with a wink. "See you later on," she called over her shoulder.

"She really is a lot like Gibbs at times," Tony mused aloud to no one in particular.

"It's why they'd never work out," Abby said with a sigh. "No one wants to date themselves."

"Except narcissists," Tony said.

"Or masochists," McGee added.

"I guess," Abby allowed, and then gasped as she found what she was looking for on her phone. "Oh! I found McCarthy-era Tony!" she exclaimed, and then caught herself and frowned. "I mean Andrew McCarthy-era. Not, like, Joe McCarthy, because you weren't alive in the fifties, and I don't think you've ever come out against communism."

Tony absorbed that and then focused on the important part. "Why do you carry around a photo of me at 15?" He knew Ziva had a childhood photo of him at her desk. But Ziva was…different.

Abby shrugged as she passed the photo to McGee. "You sent it to me. What am I supposed to do with it? Delete it?"

Tony shrugged a yes.

"It's cute," Abby went on. "And anyway, why does Ziva have an even younger photo of you taped to her computer?"

Tony looked over at his partner, who took a moment to smile fondly at the photo in question. "Because it is also cute," she replied, before looking at Tony with feigned suspicion. "And why do you have those photos of me in a bikini that I have explicitly asked you to remove several times still in your drawer?"

"Because they're hot," Tony said obviously.

"Anyone getting any work done amongst all the cute and hot?" Gibbs asked as he strode into the bullpen and made a beeline for his desk.

Abby quickly took her phone back from McGee and the others quickly returned to the tasks they'd been engrossed in before they'd been distracted by _The Glory of Love_.

"Lots of work, boss," Tony assured him, and threw a quick smile at Ziva.

Abby landed in front of Gibbs' desk and saluted him. "Returning to the salt mines, boss," she said, putting on her gruffest voice. "Just came up for fresh air."

"You're always welcome, Abby," he told her.

Abby melted into a smile. "Aww!"

"But you're distracting the monkeys."

Abby nodded ruefully. "I hear that a lot." She waved to her teammates. "Enjoy your weekends!"

…

Tony led Ziva into their regular bar near the Navy Yard just after 1900. At this time on a Friday night the place was full of agents attempting to clear their heads for the weekend and have some fun. Over the far side of the bar there seemed to be an impromptu pool tournament going on, while tall tables near the bar were holding up dozens of special agent elbows and drinks. History told them that there would still be a couple of booths down the back of the room free at this time of night, so they headed for the bar first to grab some drinks and a packet of pretzels before going in search of a free table. They found one in the back corner where they wouldn't be deafened by the pool tournament or the music blaring from the speakers above the bar, and then settled in to wait for Borin.

Despite the AC that was blasting cool air over the entrance, the rest of the bar was humid and sweaty. Ziva leaned forward to shed her blazer, but as she struggled to free one arm she knocked her beer bottle with her shoulder. Tony caught it before it fell and made a mess of both of them.

"Thank you," she said, and finally freed her arm.

"I'm here to help," he replied easily.

Ziva shoved her pile of clothes in the corner of the booth on top of Tony's discarded suit jacket, and then reached for her beer with a sigh. "Okay," she said to herself as she finally settled.

Tony watched her with a bemused smile. "You good now?"

"Yes."

"You sure? You don't want to take anything else off?"

She winked at him. "Not at least until Borin arrives."

He gave her a single nod. "Then okay." He tilted his beer bottle towards her and Ziva clinked it with hers. "Here's to the weekend," he said.

"On-call weekend," she amended.

Tony made a face. Technically, that was true. But the last four times they'd been on call over a weekend nothing had happened. He was looking forward to the streak continuing. He took a long draw from his beer, briefly closed his eyes as he felt the alcohol slowly work its way through his body, and then sat back against the booth seat with a contended smile.

"This is nice," he said.

Ziva eyed him as she crunched down on a pretzel. "We have been here three minutes," she pointed out.

He lifted a heavy shoulder at her. "I'm easy to please."

She lifted her eyebrows casually and looked out over the crowd. "I will remember that."

He tossed a smile at the side of her face. "It's true, you know. All I need is a beer, my couch and a Bond marathon and I'm a very happy very special agent."

Ziva's eyes drifted back to scrutinize him. "I do not believe that."

He lifted his eyebrows as his face grew warm. "No?"

She shook her head. "No. Perhaps in a casual, day-to-day way such simplicity leaves you content. But long term, that will not be enough to make you happy."

He held her gaze as he weighed up how to handle this. He hadn't been expecting the conversation to get so deep quite so quickly. And frankly, the idea of Ziva analyzing what she thought his Zen place would be was terrifying. But on the other hand…well, he was kind of curious about what Ziva thought his Zen place would be. Because he did know what it was, and he thought he'd been telling her for a while now, and as recently as a few weeks ago when he had kissed her the night that the world was supposed to end. If she told him what she thought now, and she was right, did that move them another step closer to each other? He was almost ready for that to happen, and on a good day like today, he _was_ ready for it. Finally, he was ready. So he swallowed down the nerves and encouraged her to share her thoughts.

"So what will be enough, Zee-vah?" he asked, throwing in some levity to cushion them in case she was about to deliver a blow.

The know-it-all smile on Ziva's face dissolved into something much more intimate and honest. "You will need someone else to sit next to you on the couch," she said. "And I do not mean Gibbs."

She held his gaze for a few more seconds until they were both clear on what she was saying. Then, when the tension reached an uncomfortable level, she broke into a wider smile. Tony followed her lead and went for the easy joke.

"I don't think I'd ever get Gibbs to sit through a Bond marathon," he told her. "And I don't think I'd like to sit through one with him."

It seemed that they were both on the same page, and Ziva reached for her beer as the tension ebbed away. "You might get him to sit still during a John Wayne movie, but that would probably be his limit."

"Then I'll keep the other end of the couch free for someone else," Tony said.

Ziva winked at him. "Good plan," she said, and then looked up to throw a smile at Borin who was making her way to the table.

"I forgot how crowded this place gets," Borin said when she reached them. She put down her own bottle of beer, stripped off her jacket and threw it into the opposite corner of the booth. "I got so close to those guys at the bar that I might just walk out of here pregnant."

"And that, kids, is how I met your mother," Tony said.

Borin chuckled and slid into the booth. "So what are we talking about here?"

Ziva gestured at Tony with her bottle. "Tony has conceded that Gibbs will not be an ideal life partner for him."

Borin turned an arched eyebrow on Tony. "Was that a serious option up until now?"

Tony nodded slowly, allowing the pity. "Sadly."

"Well, I'm sorry for your loss," Borin drawled. "What killed such a romantic idea?"

"I'm Bond, he's John Wayne," Tony said with a rueful smile.

Borin looked like she didn't buy either comparison, but let it go without bruising Tony's ego. "Damn shame," she decided, and then changed the subject. "Tell me, does Abby think I'm evil now for not wanting to get involved in her soup kitchen thing?"

Tony and Ziva shook their heads in unison.

"She'd love it if you did, but she's used to our rejection," Tony said, pointing between himself and Ziva. "We've spent a decade softening her up for you."

"Thanks," Borin replied. "Have you all really known each other for a decade?"

Ziva shook her head. "I have only been around them for eight years. But Tony and Abby go back, what, twelve?" she said, looking to Tony for confirmation.

Tony scrunched his face up as he tried to work it out. "I joined in '91. Abby was here before me."

Borin paused with her beer halfway to her mouth and shot Tony a look of disbelief. "Have you been on Gibbs' team that whole time?"

Tony felt a stab of defensiveness over his choices, but covered it with the response that was expected of him. "I'm as loyal as a Saint Bernard."

"So you and Gibbs really have been life partners for a while," Borin said.

"We've never been exclusive," Tony quipped.

"So, have there just not been team leader positions come up in that time, or what?" Borin asked.

Tony set his jaw and cast his eyes down momentarily. He knew why Borin was asking. People with his history and experience didn't stay second banana for 12 years. And honestly, sometimes there was a voice inside him that screamed it out and demanded to be heard. But that was only sometimes. Most of the time, he truly was happy where he was. He glanced at Ziva and found her watching him with understanding instead of curiosity. She had his back on this, and he relaxed again.

"Sure," he told Borin. "And I've been offered them. But I'm happy where I am."

Borin looked between them as she weighed that up, and then shrugged and let it go. "Fair enough." She looked at Ziva. "Eight years? What's your excuse?"

"No one else will have me," Ziva replied smoothly.

It was a joke, and Tony smiled at her delivery. But he played along for Borin's benefit. "It's true. There's a note on her personnel file. Never to be released from Team Gibbs."

"I have a reputation," Ziva added.

"Dangerous," Tony elaborated. "Do not hand feed. In the event of attack, seek medical attention immediately."

Borin grinned and pointed at Ziva with her beer. "You can come work for me any time."

Ziva winked at her but Tony spoke up to put an end to that idea immediately. "Hey, back off, Coast Guard. This ninja's Navy. And as her senior field agent, I won't sign off on releasing her." He knew he'd gone over the top, but Ziva and Borin both just assumed that he was kidding around.

"Tony," Ziva said with a quick roll of her eyes. "You seem to have forgotten how dangerous I get when you pull rank."

He shot her a charming smile. "I like it when you're dangerous," he told her. "It's a hell of a lot of fun to watch."

She narrowed her eyes in warning, but he just smiled it away. Ziva tipped back the rest of her beer and sighed. "You do like to watch, Tony," she said. Tony waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, and Ziva didn't quite succeed in keeping the smirk off her face. She dropped his gaze and started inching her way out of the booth. "I will be back in a moment."

Tony held up his near-empty bottle and shook it gently. "You getting another?" he asked, requesting a refill.

It didn't seem to be the reason she was leaving, but she went along with the suggestion. "This is number two?" At Tony's nod she continued, "I should definitely get this round."

Standing in front of the booth, she planted her knee on the seat and leaned across it to find her purse amongst the pile of clothes. Tony's eyes made the journey down her top on instinct, but he caught himself before anyone else caught him.

"Same again?" Ziva asked him when she straightened again.

Tony nodded in thanks, and Ziva cocked an eyebrow in question at Borin. Borin shook her head no, and Ziva left the table.

"She always gets the early rounds," Tony told Borin. "She can't be trusted to take the later ones. Ziva drunkenness escalates quickly at times and she gets conveniently forgetful."

Borin nodded at this piece of unnecessary information as she reached for a pretzel. "Uh-huh. You know, I never hear anyone else say your name like that."

Tony looked at her blankly, not quite understanding what she was saying. "She's Israeli," he told her obviously, taking a punt that Borin was talking about Ziva's accent.

But Borin rolled her eyes and chuckled. "I know that, dumbass," she said gently, but didn't elaborate further. Instead, she went some place scarier. "How long has it been going on between you two?"

Tony swallowed a mouthful of beer without choking. "What?"

Borin waved her hand in the direction Ziva had gone. "This state of flirtatious purgatory."

It was the first time Tony had ever heard it put like that, and he had to smirk at her creativity. "Flirtatious purgatory?"

Borin lifted her eyebrows in comment and sipped her beer. He shook his head at her and fed her the standard (and technically true) line.

"Nothing's going on."

Borin nodded, but she clearly wasn't convinced. "Sure. You're just friends and co-workers."

"Right," he said. "She's my partner. The relationship breeds a sense of familiarity that's often mistaken for something else. You know how it is."

Borin nodded again. "I do," she said agreeably. "But I don't think anyone's ever accused me of staring at any of my partners like I can't wait to screw them." She held her thumb and forefinger apart as Tony's mouth dropped open at her bluntness. "Slight difference."

He stared at her for a moment before he collected himself and answered her. "I don't think anyone's accused me of that before either," he lied.

"I am," Borin said with a challenging smile. "Right now."

The two of them had a staring competition as Borin dared him to deny it and Tony dared her to back down. But Borin's spine had been fused with the same metal as Gibbs', and Tony didn't stand a chance. He cast his eyes down to the table, sipped his beer slowly, and searched for the charm that would conceal how much she'd rattled him.

"Agent Borin," he said slowly and with a smile. "I am at a loss for words."

But his charm had about as much effect on Borin as it did on Gibbs. "Bet that doesn't happen often," she returned quickly, and then placed her hand on the table near his. "Don't worry. I'm sure it's just a one-time thing." She winked at him and reached for another pretzel.

Tony stared at her again. The woman had a quick wit and he was finding it hard to keep up. Despite the hard time she was giving him (which he knew was all in good fun—sort of), he found himself liking her more than he had that morning. And this morning he liked her more than he had the last time he'd met her. He thought it was a good thing he wasn't interested in her or else he'd be in trouble.

He cleared his throat and forced himself to meet her toe-to-toe and word-for-word. "Did you just accuse me of wanting to screw my partner, but being ill-equipped to do so, within two sentences?"

Borin snorted as she seemingly got the reaction she was looking for, and then took pity. "Look, forget about that, DiNozzo. You know what you should be focusing on? Making a damn move. One of you needs to," she said firmly, and stabbed the table with her finger for emphasis. "It doesn't matter which one because the outcome'll be the same. So you gotta think about which role you want to have in this movie. The one who waits? Or the one who makes it happen?"

For the third time in five minutes, Borin left him speechless. She was like Gibbs on steroids. No, Gibbs on estrogen, which was worse because she had all the guts of Gibbs, but was completely comfortable with discussing things like feelings. It had to be a bad idea to keep answering her questions. It had to bite him in the ass in the end. But damn it, she had to be at least as good as Gibbs when it came to interrogations because despite his concerns, Tony found himself talking.

He leaned over the table and, after checking the immediate vicinity for Ziva, he brought up something that had been weighing on his mind for a while. "Last year you told me that I had better people to ask out than you."

Borin nodded. "Yep. And in response to what you want to ask right now, yes, I was talking about Ziva. I don't know what she'll say, but I think it's clear she at least wants to say yes. But hey, you know her a lot better than I do. What do you think, DiNozzo?"

Nothing. He couldn't think anything. The Ziva part of his mind was mush. He leaned right back again and shook his head at her in awe. "I think you're an even tougher version of Gibbs."

Borin looked pleased by the information. She leaned over to smack his cheek gently. "Tough love, DiNozzo."

"Less tough, more love," he whined.

Borin snorted again and chewed on another pretzel. "Love? But I barely even know you."

Tony arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Because it feels like you know me well."

Borin shrugged and grabbed another pretzel. "God, I'm starving. How long do you reckon it'll take these guys to make me a steak?"

As she craned her neck to try to see what the food ordering line was like, Tony took a moment to think over what she'd said. That one of them—him or Ziva—just had to make a move. That the outcome would be the same, no matter who made it. That they were clearly more than friends and partners. It wasn't the first time someone had assumed something about their relationship, but it probably was the first time that anyone had blatantly refused to take him at his word that there was nothing going on. And Tony supposed that her timing was impeccable. Because he _had_ made a move, and Ziva had been very receptive to it. So while technically it was still the truth that there was nothing going on, these days his denials felt more like a lie. As far as he could tell, the two of them had a tacit agreement that they would move things forward when they were both ready. A couple of weeks ago he had thought they weren't quite there yet. But he wondered if that wasn't just their fear talking.

Maybe they were ready after all.

Movement to his right caught his eye, and Tony looked up to see Ziva approaching with two more bottles of beer and her wallet tucked under her arm. She was still a few steps away when he leaned over the table towards Borin again to get her attention.

"Hey," he said, drawing Borin's eyes from the laminated burger and steak menu. "It's not about screwing, as you so eloquently put it."

He didn't know why it was so important to make sure that Borin knew it. But Borin did. She watched him quietly for a few moments as Ziva approached from behind her, and then gave him a warm smile.

"Yeah, Tony. I know."

…

More agents and their associated civilian friends were still arriving at the bar when Borin decided that she had to be responsible and head home. It was still early—only 2200—and Ziva argued loudly that Borin should stay out for a while longer and have another drink. But Borin was due back at the office early the next morning and had convinced herself that sleep was more important to her than more beer and pretzels. Tony, who had turned a lot more introspective after his chat with Borin and had subsequently stopped drinking after his second beer, offered to drive her home. But Borin had waved the suggestion off as unnecessary, hailed the next taxi to come down the street, and then disappeared into the night with a smile and a knowing wink. Ziva wasn't paying attention, but Tony knew what Borin was getting at. And although it held a certain appeal, he also knew tonight wasn't the right night. Ziva was just a little too loud and tipsy for a serious conversation.

They headed back to the Navy Yard on foot to retrieve Tony's car. The temperature had dropped in the three hours they'd been in the sauna posing as a bar, but the humidity still clung to Tony's skin. Ziva, however, didn't seem to notice.

"I like it when she comes for a drink," she was telling him at double-Ziva-speed.

"Yeah," Tony said, slower than normal to counter Ziva's haste. "I like her more and more every time I see her. As a friend, I mean."

Ziva gave no indication that she has thought he'd liked her in any other way. Instead she nudged him with the whole right side of her body and looked up at him with curiosity. "You have turned into an ostrich."

Tony frowned deeply at what he assumed was a regular Ziva-mangled idiom before he chuckled. "I can't even begin to imagine where you're trying to go with that."

Ziva 'tsk'ed to herself and waved her hand around in front of her in a random pattern. "No, no. What are the animals with the tails? Possum! You are a possum!" she declared, pointing her finger accusingly.

Tony shook his head slowly. "Still not following you. Drunk Ziva is even harder to translate than Normal Ziva."

"I am not drunk," she countered. "I am just a little bit frothy."

He understood where she'd intended to go with that, and couldn't help laughing. "Bubbly, Ziva."

Ziva smiled at her mistake. "Oh. That sounds like more fun."

"I think people froth when they have rabies," he told her.

She shook her head firmly. "I do not have rabies. I am positive."

"I believe you," he said, and cut a sideways look at her. "Explain the possum thing?"

Ziva surprised him by linking her arm through his, and for a moment he was taken back to when Schmiel had visited and she'd done the same thing. She'd held on to him like this all the way down in the elevator and didn't let go until they had reached her car. It was a new thing she was doing, but he wouldn't say that he didn't like it.

"You are quiet," Ziva explained to him.

Now he understood what she was saying. While she and Borin had gotten louder and louder, she had nevertheless noticed him turning inwards. But he argued the point, if only because she was in the kind of mood where it was fun to argue with her.

"I'm not quiet. I'm chatty. A regular Chatty Cathy."

"I do not know anyone named Cathy," Ziva told him without a trace of humor. "And you were chatty. Then you turned quiet and reflective and Gibbs-ish. What happened?"

He felt that the moment needed a joke to prevent them from heading in a serious direction. But he couldn't think of one. Borin had put him off his game. So he tried to deflect her concern instead. "Nothing. I was just thinking. It happens sometimes."

Ziva tugged on his arm, and the added weight to his left side turned his head in her direction. Her face was tilted up towards his and he could see the faintest flush of pink staining her cheeks. Whether that was from the heat or the beer, Tony wasn't sure. But it sure was cute either way.

Not that he would share that thought with her right now.

"What did Borin say to you?" she asked him.

He played dumb. "About what?"

"About whatever made you quiet and reflective and Gibbs-ish."

They stopped at a corner to wait for a break in traffic, and Tony took a few moments to just look at her and try to decide whether he should go ahead and tell her after all. Then she tilted her head back to rest the point of her chin on his arm as she looked up at him, and he decided that she definitely wasn't in the right frame of mind. Although they were closer now than ever before, it still wasn't a move that a sober Ziva would make. He gave her a knowing smile that would tease her instead of tell her.

"Oh, about that?" he replied playfully. "Well, she said some things. You know?"

Ziva narrowed her eyes at him for a moment and then lifted her chin from him. "Now I cannot translate Sober Tony," she muttered.

He smiled and led her across the intersection a block down from the Navy Yard. "Well, let me get home and drink a bottle of wine, and then we should be speaking the same language."

She pulled away from him suddenly as a thought occurred to her, although she still held on to the crook of his elbow. "Are you coming to my place?" she asked. "I feel like watching a movie."

Technically it was a school night (even if only an on call one), so Tony thought he probably shouldn't. Especially not when he was carrying this relationship bomb so carefully in his head. But he doubted that Ziva would remain focused enough to continue to question him about anything, and he was always a sucker for a movie night where he could teach her a thing or two.

"Okay. What do you want to watch?"

"I do not care," she said, waving her hand dismissively, before proceeding to rattle off a list of things she did not care to watch. "Nothing sad. Or sappy. Or too deep. Or historical. Or that will require me to concentrate. But nothing that is too dumb or shallow, either."

Tony nodded along as he tried to think of a suitable title. "Okay," he said at length. "Have I introduced you to Marilyn yet?"

"Monroe?" Ziva asked. "I know who she is."

"Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Ziva."

She misunderstood. "I thought you mostly dated brunettes."

"No, it's—" He started to explain himself, but then decided that it didn't matter. She'd understand soon enough. "Yeah, Ziva. I usually date brunettes. But Marilyn was one hell of a blonde."

Ziva looked up at him with a playful smirk. "Then let's spend some time with her on my couch."

It was an offer he couldn't refuse.

...

When Ziva opened the second bottle of wine and poured him his fourth glass, Tony started wondering how she might feel about him staying the night. He'd stayed over before—a couple of times while Gibbs had gone through his retirement phase, and then a smattering of occasions in the years since when he'd either been too drunk to drive or they were catching a very early flight in the morning. But he hadn't for a while now, and certainly not since The Kiss. That shouldn't have changed anything. They were friends, and sometimes friends crashed on each others' couches. But The Kiss somehow made the idea of staying the night feel a little more risky, even if he'd spend the night on the couch. Or maybe he was over thinking it. Maybe Ziva wouldn't bat an eye when he asked for a pillow. Maybe she already assumed he'd stay, and that was why she was drowning him with red wine.

Ziva half filled her own glass and then settled back on the couch beside him. It had taken him a while to find a version of _Gentlemen Prefer Blondes_ to stream through Ziva's TV, but now Marilyn was trying on Lady Beekman's tiara. It didn't surprise him that Ziva wasn't really watching the movie, but she seemed to be enjoying herself anyway.

"I am not drunk," she informed him out of the blue, even if she kind of slurred it. "My face just feels…" She trailed off but lifted her hands to make a squeezing motion in front of her face."

"Painful?" he tried to translate.

Ziva closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, no. Like…like a latex pillow."

Tony pursed his lips. He had no idea what that was supposed to mean. "And you're _not_ drunk?" he asked pointedly.

"No."

He thought that the likelihood of her admitting it was small, and so he decided to just go along with it. "Okay."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "You do not believe me," she stated.

"Of course I do."

Ziva wagged her finger in his vague direction. "I know you are lying, but I cannot bring myself to care."

"I just think it's a good thing that tomorrow is technically not a work day."

Ziva smiled, and then let her head drop to rest against his arm. "Yes. Very good."

"It'll let you sleep off the hangover," he added.

"I am _not drunk!_ " she insisted again, then took a moment to think. "But in case I am, it would make me feel less self-conscious about the fact if you were to suffer from the same alcohol-related Latex pillow face affliction as me."

Tony raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Wow. Maybe you are sober. Drunk Ziva would never be able to get those words out."

She tilted her head back to look up at him. "The language center of Drunk Ziva's brain gets confused between the eight that it knows."

He rolled his eyes. "Show off," he accused. "Even when your face feels like a Latex pillow."

She hummed and got a little more comfortable against him. "Don't you like the wine, Tony?"

"I've had four glasses," he protested, and took another long sip as evidence. "Latex pillow face right around the corner."

"That's comfortable," she murmured, and then barely paused before telling him, "I like Borin."

Tony smiled, eager to share his revelation. "I had the thought that she's exactly what Gibbs would be like on estrogen."

Ziva snorted in a very drunken and unladylike way. "You are probably close," she said. "But Borin is far more social."

"It doesn't take much to be more social than Gibbs," he pointed out, and finished his glass of wine. When he turned his head he felt his brain struggle to keep up with the move and felt momentarily dizzy. Yeah, Latex pillow face wasn't far off.

"He has his things," Ziva said, stretching one leg out onto the coffee table. "His boat. Fornell."

Tony nodded, but felt suddenly sad. "I worry about him sometimes," he told her.

"So do I."

He tilted his head down so that his cheek pressed against the top of her head. "And I'm worried I'll turn into him," he admitted. "But with movies instead of a boat."

Ziva put her hand on his thigh in comfort. "I will not let you."

It was a throwaway comment, he knew. But he thought it was likely that he'd hold onto the comment later. "Good."

Ziva nodded against him and left her hand where it lay on his thigh. Tony was completely fine with that. "Who is the other woman?" she asked.

"Huh?" What was she accusing him of?

"With Marilyn," she said, and pointed at the television with her foot.

"Oh. Jane Russell."

"I like her," Ziva said approvingly. "She is…" she paused to grunt, "I know I am going to get this wrong."

Tony grinned in anticipation. "Try."

Ziva squeezed her eyes shut as she ran through the options in her head. "Not crass. Not classy. Not Lassie. Tassy?"

He had to think for a moment. "Sassy?" he tried.

Ziva clicked her fingers. "Yes! I like that. Or doll."

"Droll."

"Yes," she nodded, and paused. "I understand the visual appeal of Marilyn. I suppose I understand why her breathless dizzy—"

"Ditzy."

"…young girl act appeals."

"I'm sensing you are not a fan."

Ziva sniffed. "I do not dislike her."

"You want to watch something else?"

"No. I am just saying I do not relate to her."

"Okay."

"She is very American," she said, and it sounded like an accusation.

"That's why you don't relate to her?"

"I do not relate to her because I have never aspired to be a pin up. I do not have the chest for it. Or the hair. Or the face. Or the interest in objectification."

Tony thought about how to respond to that. Was Ziva Marilyn-like? God, no. But that wasn't a bad thing. "There is no single comment I can make right now that is appropriate."

She blinked up at him. "You should probably drink more wine, then."

"Ms David, are you trying to get me drunk?" he asked with a smile.

Ziva failed to hide her smirk behind her glass. "Perhaps."

Tony refilled his glass. That didn't sound so bad.

* * *

 **There really will be a case, I promise. Just bringing in some T/Z closeness.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much for the lovely response to this story! I hope you Tony and Ziva fans who are still reading stories about them and haven't thrown your hands up in despair over reality and walked away can find some enjoyment in this. Let's begin the case part of this story now (after some Tony and Zivaness).**

* * *

When Ziva woke up the next morning she had a momentary sense of disorientation. Instead of being spread out on her soft bed, she was jammed into a much smaller and less comfortable space. Her arm and leg beneath her were dead, there was a crick in her neck that she knew would give her grief all day. It took her another moment to realize she had slept on her couch. And she wasn't alone. Her face was pressed against her partner's heartbeat, and the warmth and smell of him surrounded her like a blanket. As she became more alert, she felt his fingers at the top of her spine, very gently working around her neck and back in a way that felt far too good for her already weakened commitment to certain rules.

Very slowly and without moving, Ziva opened her eyes to look up at him. Tony's face was relaxed and utterly peaceful as he just lay back and looked up at the ceiling. Ziva frowned to herself. As pleasant as it was, this was hardly a position that the two of them should be waking up in. Yes, they'd slept in the same bed before, and they'd even fallen asleep together on her couch. But not like this. Not snuggled in and tangled up after an evening of beer, wine and Marilyn. Why hadn't he gotten up already? Was he just waiting for her to wake up because he was too polite to shove her off him?

Probably not, she thought as her eyes fell to the enticing skin of his neck. He was probably still lying there because he was as content with the snuggled and tangled position as she was. They weren't supposed to do this, but what did that matter this early in the morning, and when they seemed destined to do it anyway. Nothing is inevitable. Hadn't she said that to him once? It wasn't a belief she subscribed to much these days. Not when being snuggled and tangled felt so good.

She lifted her eyes to look at him again, and this time she moved her chin against his chest. Tony turned his head a fraction until he could look down at her, and she braced herself for a typical joke about her snoring or drooling or using him as a pillow that would break the mood and return them to their regular lives. But a joke didn't come. He didn't say anything. Instead he just looked at her with soft, peaceful eyes devoid of nerves or teasing. And she wasn't sure why, but his apparent comfort with waking up with her draped on top of him made her heartbeat speed up significantly and a rush of tingles fire in her belly. It struck her as an incredibly brave and honest moment, and she made herself hold his gaze. He deserved the same in return.

They spent a long, silent minute just looking at each other, not moving save for his fingers at the top of her spine. Her mind drifted back to that stellar kiss he had given her weeks ago and how badly she wanted another. And another. And more and more until she died. Maybe she was ready for this after all, because this embrace just felt so right. Not wrong or awkward or forbidden. Just _right_. She wondered if she should suggest that they spend their day off talking about moving things forward a little faster, but fate had other ideas. One of their cell phones sitting on the coffee table started ringing, rudely cutting into their quiet little cocoon and forcing her plans to the backburner. Tony's hand stopped moving and he made the most animated face he had all morning—a slight look of disappointment—before he took his hand off her arm and stretched out to retrieve his phone from the table. Ziva watched him smirk as he read caller ID, and she didn't need him to turn the face of his phone towards her to know who was on the line.

Tony dropped his thumb onto the screen and brought the phone to his ear. "Morning, boss," he answered with a sleep-thick voice.

Ziva couldn't make the noises she heard from Gibbs' end make any sense, but it didn't matter. There was only one reason he'd be calling. So much for a weekend. And so much for getting to kiss her partner again.

"Yeah, I'll round up Ziva and McGee," Tony told Gibbs, and then hung up. He turned his face in her direction again. "Vance has requested the pleasure of our company."

Ziva frowned. "Vance?"

Tony arched his back beneath her and stretched his arm out to the side to try to encourage blood flow. "Yep."

"Hmm."

Tony's eyes flicked over her face before he gave her a vaguely amused grin. "Morning."

"Morning," she replied, and then dropped her eyes to look down their bodies and back up again. She gave him a self-aware smile. "I did not mean to trap you on the couch last night."

"I'm not trapped," he told her. "Well, not unpleasantly."

She attempted to pat his chest teasingly, but the touch ended up being more of an indecent rub. "We should probably get up anyway," she told him, and then as delicately as possible pushed herself up and scrambled over the top of him. The exercise was made more difficult by her dead arm and leg, but she had an incentive other than work to make the effort. Her bladder was about to burst. Once she was sure she could move her leg without falling over, she made a dash for the bathroom.

She returned a few minutes later feeling much more comfortable, physically. Tony was sitting up on her couch and talking on his phone while rolling his ankle around and wincing at the movement.

"I don't know. A walk-in or something," he was saying, Ziva assumed to McGee. "You don't need to be in until ten."

Ziva checked her watch and was surprised to see that it was already after 0800. She couldn't remember the last time she slept that late.

"Hey, did Abby succeed in hiding your sausage last night?" Tony asked McGee with a grin. Ziva could only assume that McGee hung up then, because Tony brought his phone down without saying goodbye and chuckled to himself as he turned it off.

"No rush, then?" Ziva checked.

Tony looked up at her—and then down and up again—and shook his head. "No. Someone's coming in to talk to us. I don't know who or about what."

Ziva nodded and stretched her neck a little. "Are you all right? You look pained."

Tony got to his feet. "Pins and needles," he told her, and limped towards her. "You want to get ready and I'll take you in?"

She frowned. "I can get in myself."

"Your car's at the Navy Yard," he reminded her.

"Oh." She recalled for the first time having drinks with Borin, and that Tony had driven them back to Ziva's apartment afterwards.

"I've got a change of clothes in my locker," he told her. "So you go do your thing," he waved towards the bedroom, "and I'll go get coffee and then we'll both put on our special agent faces to face the rest of the day."

Ziva nodded and then turned to head back to her bedroom. And although it was great that he was a good little boy scout and was prepared with fresh clothes at work, she still had to wonder whether she would ever in a million years get to see his goddamn apartment.

…

Right before 1000 the team gathered in Vance's office. The director clearly hadn't been expecting to have to come into work on that Saturday morning, and had turned up in jeans and a white shirt which, while most likely being purchased at one of the higher-end stores in town, still had the effect of making him look casual, relaxed and even approachable.

Vance smiled briefly when he looked over the team of agents in front of him, and Tony had to wonder whether they were a) about to be rewarded for their good work with a month-long vacation, b) about to be asked to do something he knew they wouldn't like, or c) Vance had woken up in a position at least as pleasant as Tony had.

"I have a job for you, agents," Vance began. "A somewhat cool case."

Tony's mouth opened to ask for the specific definition of 'cool' he was talking about (fun? Old? Scandinavian?) but his brain caught up just in time to prevent him from asking such a question so early in proceedings.

"I was contacted overnight by Admiral Royston Kirk. Well, former Admiral Kirk," he corrected himself.

"He retired in 2008," McGee said, and then paused and hesitated at the looks he received from Vance and Gibbs. "He, uh, he's friends with my father," McGee explained, barely above a mutter, and then made an expression of apology that told Vance he could continue without interruption.

"Admiral Kirk has a daughter, Alicia, who ran into some trouble a few months back," Vance told them. "Her husband, Will Crawford, was an Ensign up until four months ago when he passed away."

"How?" Gibbs asked.

"Food poisoning, apparently," Vance replied, and it was clear the there was a bone of contention around the cause of death. "He was on a cruise through the Caribbean with his wife at the time."

"A sailor took his vacation on a cruise?" Tony questioned, and looked around at the others to backup his unspoken statement that it sounded like a strange thing to do. All he got in response were expressions ranging from blank to admonishing. He cleared his throat and changed his tune. "I mean, that makes sense. Because sailors love boats."

"He fell ill one night and had to be transported off the boat to receive proper medical attention," Vance went on, as Tony shared a wince over his comment with Ziva. "He passed away shortly after arriving at the hospital."

"And the Admiral has reason to believe bad shrimp wasn't the real cause?" Gibbs guessed.

"He doesn't know," Vance replied. "But his daughter is sure there was something fish—" He stopped abruptly and caught himself before using an unintentionally insensitive choice of words. "Something strange about his death. She finally convinced him to ask us to take another look."

Tony rolled his eyes to himself. Nepotism was one of his pet peeves, and although he had sympathy for a woman who had lost her husband before his time, he thought it was a bit rich that she was getting away with taking MCRT off fresh cases to work on an old one that had already been investigated. And all because daddy was an Admiral. He was pretty sure that McGee wouldn't pull that crap.

"Who handled the case when it happened?" Gibbs asked.

"FBI. Coast Guard," Vance said, although it sounded more like a suggestion. "You can get that information from Ms Crawford when you meet with her." He checked his watch. "She should be waiting in the conference room for you right now."

Gibbs let out a small sigh. "Leon, if the case has already been investigated and closed—"

"Then we'll probably have less work to do in the long run," Vance cut him off. "Meet with her. Listen to her. Check it out, and then get back to me. Clear?"

Gibbs smirked at being given an order he disagreed with, but then cocked his head in acceptance. "We're on it," he said, and then led his team out of the room and into the hallway beyond Vance's secretary's office.

"Seriously," Tony said when they were alone. "Why would an Ensign take a vacation on a boat? It's like me taking vacation in an office building."

"Some people can't breathe if the air isn't salty," McGee said, arching his eyebrow knowingly.

"Tony, McGee, go start pulling together everything you can about the previous investigation," Gibbs said, getting them back on track. "We must've been involved in it somehow."

"Got it."

Gibbs beckoned Ziva with his fingers as he turned and headed towards the conference room. "Ziva, you're with me."

She followed quickly, and Tony and McGee turned in the other direction and headed back to the bullpen.

"You reckon you could get the Admiral to call in a favor like this for you?" Tony had to ask once they'd returned to their desks.

McGee gave a snort. "When I was sick as a kid, I couldn't even get him to write a note for me to have a day off school."

Tony booted up his computer and then looked wistfully into the middle-distance. "Ah. The downfalls of an authoritarian parent. You don't get to play hooky."

"It wasn't hooky!" McGee cried, and Tony blinked and jumped a fraction out at the outburst. It was clearly a sore point. "I had Mono!"

Tony chuckled and shook his head. "No. There's no way you ever had Mono, McGeek."

"Seventh grade," McGee insisted. "It went around my class. And the Admiral wouldn't accept that I got tired while I was recovering." He frowned over a bitter pout. "I fell asleep at my desk in the afternoon more than once. And I don't know if you remember this, Tony, but seventh graders don't pass up a chance to have some fun with sleeping classmates."

What he was implying was so juvenile that Tony couldn't help but smile. But when McGee sent him a traitorous look, he wiped the smile off his face and tried to look sympathetic. He gestured at his cheek. "Magic marker?"

"Yes," McGee grumbled.

"PG-13 or R-rated?"

"PG-13," McGee replied, clearly relieved. "Others weren't so lucky."

Tony chuckled and started running a search on Will Crawford's name in the NCIS database. "Well, it's character-building. If some douchebag jock hadn't drawn a funny moustache on your face when you were 13, you might not be where you are today."

McGee gave him a crazy look. "How do you make that jump?"

Tony couldn't. He was just talking to fill the silence at this point. So he went for a response that would convey vague wisdom. "One day, Tim, you'll work it out."

McGee started at him for a moment as he considered that, and then rolled his eyes and returned to his computer. "You're so full of it."

Tony admitted it quickly. "Yes, but I don't sound like I am. And in the end, isn't that the most important thing?"

"No," McGee replied.

Tony shrugged to himself and let it go. "So, how was the soup kitchen thing?" McGee eyed him warily, and Tony held up his hands in pre-emptive surrender. "No sausage jokes."

"It was good," McGee told him. "Abby was in her element."

"Amongst the elderly and vulnerable? I'll bet," Tony said.

"The Coast Guard was involved."

Tony looked over at him and frowned as he tried to follow. "At the soup kitchen?"

McGee looked at him blankly for a moment, and then caught on and shook his head. "No, in our case. Coast Guard investigated."

Tony got up from his desk and walked over to stand behind McGee and peer over his shoulder. On his screen was a short clipping from Will Crawford's hometown newspaper. In three paragraphs The Grenvail Herald reported on their former high school quarterback's death while on a cruise through the Caribbean, that the Coast Guard had investigated, and that he'd be buried the following Monday in Norfolk.

"I thought that deaths of Americans at sea had to be investigated by the Coast Guard and the FBI," Tony said.

"They do," McGee replied. "Question for Fornell."

"And Borin," Tony added, then went back to his computer. "And NCIS Special Agent Rory Crocker," he added.

McGee's eyes went to the ceiling as he thought the name over. "Never heard of him."

Tony entered the commands on his keyboard to bring up the investigation file and Crocker's file. "Well, that's because he works out of Jacksonville." He scanned the file in the investigation. "And because he doesn't seem to have done much investigating on this one. Looks like Coast Guard did it all and we just signed off on the findings."

"They must've really thought it was just food poisoning," McGee said.

"I'll call Borin." He dialed her number and then waited three rings before her voicemail picked up. He left a quick message. "Hey, it's DiNozzo. Can you give me a call back? We've got a cold case that's come up that your guys investigated."

"How was last night?" McGee asked after Tony hung up.

Tony thought of Borin's blunt assessment of his potential love life. "Uh, good. Her and Ziva should not be allowed out on their own, by the way. I always feel like they're one drink away from a bad idea that'll end with someone being maimed."

McGee scoffed. "And you're the one that keeps them grounded?" he asked, incredulous.

Tony cocked his head in acknowledged the comment. "Strange but true, Timmy. In that threesome, I'm the responsible one."

"And yet you describe the trio as a threesome."

Tony shook his head. "Get your mind out of the gutter, probie. There's absolutely nothing untoward going on."

…

Alicia Crawford was a pretty brunette in her late-20s with a round face, dull grey eyes and slightly too-full lips. She wore three gold necklaces of varying lengths over an oversized crisp white shirt, tailored blue pants and brown wedge heels that gave another two inches to her 6'2 frame. Her diamond wedding ring and matching engagement ring were still firmly on her finger, and while they weren't in the Beyoncé league, they were certainly blingy enough to catch the light whenever Alicia moved her hands. Which was a lot. Alicia liked to draw pictures in the air when she spoke, as if her illustrations would help her make her point.

"I am just at a loss," she told Gibbs and Ziva, throwing her hands up dramatically, before pounding on her chest. "No one will listen to me."

"We're listening," Gibbs said simply. "You have our attention."

Ziva cut her eyes to her boss, wondering if he was making a joke. It was hard not to pay attention to Alicia. But his expression was as impenetrable as ever, and Ziva refocused on the task.

"Why don't you start at the beginning of the cruise," Ziva suggested. "You departed four months ago?"

"On April fourth," Alicia said. "We were celebrating our fourth wedding anniversary." She flashed her rings at Ziva. "We spent the day just touring around and swimming. It was perfect." She brought her thumb and index finger together in an OK gesture.

"What was the cruise liner?" Gibbs asked.

"Caribbean Carnivalé," Alicia said. "We'd been on it before on our honeymoon. But we did a tour of the west Caribbean then. This time we were cruising through the east Caribbean."

"You enjoy being on the water as much as your husband," Ziva stated.

Alicia chuckled and shook her head. "No. Not nearly as much. Will loved it. He's been at sea all his life. And my father is the same. But I don't share their enthusiasm. I like it," she said, holding her hands out as if to physically stop them from thinking otherwise. "And our honeymoon cruise was wonderful. But I can take or leave boats."

"The cruise was your husband's idea," Gibbs guessed.

Alicia smiled and nodded before tearing up. Ziva passed her a box of tissues. "Thank you. Yes, it was. It was hard to get him to go anywhere while he was on leave unless there was a boat involved."

"What happened the night he passed away?" Ziva asked gently.

Alicia frowned and shook her head as she tried to make sense of it. "It was just a normal night. We'd left San Juan that afternoon, and we were looking forward to docking at St Croix in the morning. We had dinner in one of the ship's formal restaurants, and it was nice. Everything was just so…nice." She paused and covered her mouth for a moment as she fought for composure. "We were at the restaurant until about 11 o'clock. Three courses and quite a few drinks. Then we went back to our cabin and went to bed. He was fine when he went to sleep, but then he woke me up at about one o'clock and he was really sick. He just kept throwing up, and it felt like he had a fever."

Ziva made a few notes on her notepad—a reminder to check with Ducky about the length of time between dinner and Will getting sick, and typical symptoms of food poisoning. She had only had it once before herself, but it was many, many years ago and she didn't trust her memory.

"I called the ship's doctor," Alicia went on. "They took him down to the infirmary and decided right away, without any further exploration, that it was food poisoning. They said that they'd seen a few other patients during the day who'd been sick too."

"During the day?" Gibbs asked. "Not after dinner?"

"No!" Alicia said, as if Gibbs had just made her point. "That's it, you see? Those other people, they got sick from fish they from street vendors in San Juan. But Will and I didn't go anywhere near the bar. We didn't have any fish that day. And they were sick hours before Will was."

"And no one else got sick from dinner?" Ziva checked.

Alicia shook her head firmly. "No. There was no food poisoning or virus going around or anything."

"Okay. So, Your husband was in the infirmary, and then what?" Gibbs asked.

"He kept throwing up. His fever got worse. We tried to give him water so that he wouldn't dehydrate, but he couldn't keep it down." She paused to dab tears from her cheeks with a tissue. "He was there all night in complete agony, and they didn't do anything but give him water. They didn't even put in an IV. When we docked in St Croix in the morning an ambulance came to take him to the hospital. And they said the same thing. It's food poisoning. I told them it wasn't, it couldn't be. But they wouldn't listen. They finally put him on an IV and said he'd be fine once he got everything out of his system. But then he started having seizures."

"He does not have a history?" Ziva guessed.

"No. Ne never had one in his life," Alicia said. "They took some blood from him, but then he had another seizure and…he-he just died. Right there on the bed with no one around him but me who was screaming for the doctors." She paused as she tried to suck in air between her sobs. "They tried to resuscitate him but gave up after only a few minutes. And he was gone. Just like that, he was gone."

"I'm sorry," Gibbs said gently.

Alicia threw her hands up. "Who dies from food poisoning anymore?" she asked. "Young, fit and healthy men don't just die from food poisoning!"

Not usually, Ziva thought, but refrained from adding fuel to the fire before they knew what was going on.

"What did the autopsy find?" Gibbs asked.

Alicia thumped her hand down on the table. "There wasn't one. I requested one and was told that his symptoms were consistent with food poisoning. It's a small hospital, and they said that they didn't perform autopsies unless foul play was suspected."

"But they had a medical file for him," Gibbs assumed. "Did they test the blood they took?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. The Coast Guard got involved, so they might have. But I never heard anything from them except that they'd closed the case." She leant over the table towards Gibbs. "Agent Gibbs, I know that I must sound like a grieving widow who can't let go. But I know there's more to this."

"How's that?"

"Will told me he wanted to talk to ship security about something that he saw the day before he got sick," she told him, her grey eyes shining with tears. "Something about a crime that another passenger had committed. But he never got the chance. I think he was killed over it."

Gibbs watched her quietly for a few moments, and Ziva knew this was his way of getting someone to calm down before continuing the conversation.

"What crime?" Gibbs asked patiently.

Alicia shook her head. "I don't know, exactly. He wouldn't tell me. But it was something that happened when we were docked in Samaná the day before. We'd made friends with two other passengers, John and Sacha Paulson, but all of a sudden Will told me that we should stay away from them."

Ziva wrote down the names and the port of call in the Dominican Republic. "Did your husband say that the Paulsons knew he witnessed the crime?"

Alicia shook her head again. "No, not exactly. But when I saw John next he looked at me as if he was wary of me."

"And you believe that the Paulsons killed your husband to stop him reporting this crime?"

"Yes," she said adamantly. "Sacha was a drug rep for that big pharmaceutical company, Fischer & Edmonds. She could have known what to give him to make it look like he'd eaten bad salmon."

Gibbs' eyes drifted over to Ziva, and she knew that he wasn't exactly buying it. Ziva wasn't either, to be honest, but orders were orders. Vance had already obliged them to look into the case and report back on what they found.

"We'll look into it," Gibbs told Alicia, bringing a grateful smile to the widow's face. He handed over his card. "Give me a call if you remember anything else that you think might be helpful."

Alicia clutched the card to her chest. "Thank you so much," she said through tears. "I promise you that you'll find something."

The three of them stood, and Ziva went to the door first to lead Alicia out of the room. But Alicia stopped by Gibbs and stooped down to hug him tightly. Gibbs was practically engulfed by her height and her oversized shirt, and Ziva looked away quickly before the sight made her giggle inappropriately.

"Thank you," she said again.

Gibbs patted her back awkwardly. "Okay," he said, his voice muffled by her shoulder.

Alicia stepped back and then came at Ziva. Ziva smiled politely and cocked her head towards the hallway. "I will show you out," she began, but lost her voice when Alicia grabbed her in a tight hug as well.

"You people are wonderful," Alicia said from almost a foot above Ziva's head. "I should have come to the Navy first."

Ziva turned her head so that her face wasn't squashed into Alicia's breast. "I promise we will do all we can."


	3. Chapter 3

McGee watched the floors tick off with increasing patience as the elevator rose. Both his hands were full of the team's lunch orders—two bags full of burgers, fries and sandwich wraps plus a tray of coffee and takeout soda. He'd been close to dropping one of the bags since he stepped into the elevator, and it continued to slip further and further from between his fingers as the elevator rose. He tried to use the rail that was nailed to the wall as leverage to give him a better grip, but it seemed to make it worse. So all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and wait for the _ding_.

As soon as the chime sounded and the doors opened, McGee dashed onto the floor and around to the closest desk—Ziva's. He dropped the bags onto her desk, then managed to wrap his fingers a little more securely around the drinks tray before he slid it onto her desk without spilling it.

"That was close," he muttered, and shook his hands free of the cramps that had started forming from his take out death grip.

"You never had a part-time job as a waiter, did you?" Tony asked.

McGee looked up at Ziva's scowl and Tony's wince. The senior field agent was perched on one of the bookcases behind Ziva's desk, and his foot was resting on one of her open desk drawers. It was their standard fact-finding position, and McGee wondered what they'd found together in the 30 minutes he'd been gone.

"Sorry," he said. "Lost my grip." He opened the bags and handed Ziva a vegetable wrap and Tony a grilled chicken burger. "Are you sure that's what you wanted?" he asked.

Tony grabbed it out of his hands. "Yes, McDonald's," he said. "Sometimes I don't feel like eating a delicious juicy cow. Strange as it may seem."

McGee frowned. "That's the second _strange as it may seem_ you've given me today," he pointed out.

"Well, here's a third," Tony said as he unwrapped his burger. " _Strange as it may seem_ , I don't keep track of those things."

McGee rolled his eyes and took a burger and serving of fries over to Gibbs' empty desk.

"You are not going to eat that over my shoulder, are you?" Ziva asked Tony.

Tony put the burger down on her desk, went to his desk, grabbed his chair and wheeled it back over behind hers. He gave her a polite smile, and instead of narrowing her eyes at him in return like McGee expected, she gave him a brief smile back before turning back to her computer.

McGee retrieved the bag with his burger and fries, took his soda and went back to his desk. "You find something?" he asked.

"Let me hear it," Gibbs said, striding back into the bullpen.

Tony stood up, but with his mouth full of chicken burger he had to gesture at Ziva to put what they'd found up on the plasma. She hit a few keys to bring up a webpage for the Caribbean Carnivalé, licensing information, financial information and the service record of Will Crawford. Tony chewed frantically as the rest of the team waited for him to finish, and under pressure he swallowed before he was ready. His eyes watered, but he swallowed again, cleared his throat and began his rundown.

"Ensign Will Crawford, aged 29," he said with a thin voice. "Joined the Navy after high school where he was the star quarterback for the Grenvail High Ravens. Clean service record, glowing performance reviews. He'd done several tours overseas including to the Persian Gulf and the Gulf of Aden."

He paused and Ziva took her cue to click to the next screen. Alicia Crawford's driver's license popped up.

"He married Alicia Kirk on April 6, 2009," Tony went on. "As we know, she's the daughter of Admiral Royston Kirk. Alicia makes her living as a fashion and style blogger." He paused again as Ziva pulled up Alicia's blog. "Apparently, that's a real job. They've been living on base housing since July 2009, but since Will's death, Alicia has moved back to her parents' house in Georgetown."

Ziva stood and grabbed the clicker to move on to her part of the presentation. "Neither of the Crawfords have anything in their histories that stand out. No outstanding debts, no previous arrests, not even traffic violations. They are streaky clean."

"Squeaky," Tony corrected.

Ziva frowned. "Like a mouse?"

Tony started to explain, but Gibbs didn't have the patience.

"Hey. That's the victims. What else have you got?"

Ziva clicked onto the next screen. "The Caribbean Carnivalé," she announced, as a picture of the enormous cruise liner out on the open sea at sunset filled the screen. "Maiden voyage was in August 2011. It is registered in Liberia, which means they are under Liberian law while at sea."

McGee swallowed a mouthful of soda and spoke up. "That's pretty common for cruise liners," he said. "I did some digging before I went to get lunch. Apparently a lot of liners register their ships in places with more relaxed laws so that they don't have to pay as much attention to employee conditions."

"Speaking of employees," Ziva continued, "There are currently 1,207 employees on board the Caribbean Carnivalé."

Gibbs arched an eyebrow at her. "You kidding?"

"No. They serve an average of 3,500 passengers on each trip."

"And that only makes the Caribbean Carnivalé a mid-sized cruise," Tony shot in. "There are a couple of liners out there that take up to 6,000. Although their quarters are probably nicer than what you get on a Navy frigate."

Ziva watched Tony as he worked through his agent afloat trauma and continued giving her rundown. "The captain is a gentleman by the name of Sven Slotté. A Norwegian with 20 years' experience as a cruise liner captain."

"Always around the Caribbean and Mexico," Tony said. "I guess he's not pining for the fjords."

Ziva clicked through to the next screen. "I have contacted the cruise line for a copy of their incident report surrounding Ensign Crawford's death. They will email it through soon."

Tony took the clicker from her. "But meanwhile, we did a little digging and found out about a couple of assaults, thefts and at least two attempted sexual assaults on the ship since the beginning of the year. From what we can tell, none resulted in a prosecution, even though they were investigated by the FBI and the Coast Guard."

"You call Borin?" Gibbs asked.

"Waiting for her to return my message," Tony said on a nod.

"We thought you would like to call Fornell," Ziva added.

Gibbs nodded and seemed to notice the coffee that McGee had gotten for him for the first time. He picked it up, took a long drink, then gestured at the screen with the cup. "What about this Paulson guy she mentioned?"

Tony pulled up yet another screen with two driver's licenses showing. "John and Sacha Paulson," Tony began. "Married eight years, no kids. John Paulson has an arrest for drunk and disorderly on his file back from 20 years ago and a couple of parking fines. Sacha's as clean as the Crawfords. As Alicia mentioned to Special Agent David here, Sacha is employed as a pharmaceutical sales rep for Fischer & Edmonds. John is a toy maker. Handcrafts rocking horses and stuff out of wood. Kindred spirit, boss?"

Gibbs gave him a steely look that make Tony's smile drop.

"Right. Anyway, they seem to be well enough off. A house in Charleston, two cars, only minor debts for some credit cards and student loans. No red flags."

"But," Ziva interjected, "They have gone on two cruises a year for the last three years. Always departing Miami and touring the east Caribbean."

"These cruises don't come cheap, boss," Tony said. "Not the way the Paulsons do it."

"Their accommodations are always top of the line," Ziva said. "Bedrooms separate from the living room, large balconies."

"Definitely better than a Navy frigate," Tony summed up.

"What kind of money are we talking?" Gibbs asked.

"Upwards of $15,000 per cruise," Ziva said.

Gibbs looked at her like she'd sprouted another head. "Just for the room?"

"Yes."

"How long are they at sea for?"

"About eight days," Tony said.

Gibbs didn't look impressed by the extravagance. "So where's the money coming from?"

"We're working on that," Tony said.

"You request the medical file from the hospital in St Croix?" Gibbs asked.

"On its way," Tony said with a nod.

Gibbs nodded and sat down behind his desk. He unwrapped his burger and took a bite while he thought about the information he'd been provided. Tony returned to his desk to get through whatever he could of his lunch before Gibbs spurred them into action again, and McGee, mostly done with his, spoke up to provide some of the information he'd gathered before he left.

"Boss? Coast Guard was responsible for the original investigation around Ensign Crawford's death. But we had to sign off on it. I put a call in to Special Agent Rory Crocker who works down in the Jacksonville field office so he can talk us through what happened."

"You didn't just pull up the case file?" Gibbs asked.

"Buh-uh, yeah, I did," McGee stammered. "But it didn't say much. And I thought we should probably talk to the lead agent anyway."

Gibbs nodded. "Good." He took another bite of his burger, chewed quickly and then threw out the rest before standing up again. "So. You telling me that we're just waiting for calls back from Borin, Jacksonville and the cruise liner?"

His three agents jumped back into action.

"No, boss!" Tony declared. "We're chasing people. Important people. For important information."

Gibbs picked up his coffee and started walking out of the bullpen. "McGee, dig further into the Paulsons' finances."

"Got it, boss."

"DiNozzo, get Borin to talk to you even if you have to drive out there and stand over her desk."

"On it," he said, although without McGee's enthusiasm. He didn't really feel like chasing Borin down today.

"Ziva, I want the medical file from St Croix here in the next hour. And the incident report from the ship."

Ziva nodded. "I will twist some thumbs."

"Arms," Tony said.

"What is the difference?" Ziva asked, exasperated. "Either way, it hurts."

Tony nodded his head, accepting her point. He turned to watch Gibbs retreating towards the elevator. "Where are you headed, boss?" he called.

"To get some medical advice."

…

Even for Gibbs, the day was too nice to spend indoors. Technically he could make his calls from the bullpen, but it was a rare, mild Saturday in a string of hot and sticky ones. If he couldn't be in his basement where he wanted to be, or on the water where he could easily be convinced to be, then he could at least spend a little time with the fresh air. Especially when that air wasn't being thickened up by his agents.

He loved those kids. He really did. But sometimes he got so sick of their faces that he could yell. And sometimes, he did.

He had a feeling that this case would induce yelling. Although he was committed to investigating it thoroughly, there was just something about it that he knew would give him regrets in the end. He wasn't looking forward to finding out what those regrets would be.

Those were thoughts for another time, though. As he set off on a lazy lap of the grounds around NCIS headquarters, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Ducky's number. The elderly M.E. would most likely be on the golf course on a day like this, but Gibbs could do little about interrupting him. Sometimes, duty literally called.

"Jethro!" Ducky answered, sounding as amiable as ever. "Did you know that golfers walk an average of about five and a half miles on an 18-hole course, should they refuse the aid of a buggy?"

"Didn't know that, Duck," Gibbs replied.

"I knew that," Ducky said. "Ever since my fleeting audience with the Grim Reaper last summer, I've worn a pedometer for every round I've played. I've only reached four and two-third miles today, but I am assuming from your call that I will not make the rest of the distance."

"Keep playing, Duck," Gibbs told him. "I'm after your brains, not your hands."

"Ah! Then you will excuse me if I walk while I talk."

"Tell me about food poisoning," Gibbs said.

Ducky made a 'tsk' sound. "Oh dear. I have told you in the past not to eat at that wretched pub you like."

Gibbs smiled to himself. "I ain't been sick since '99," he told Ducky with a hint of pride. "I'm talking about a dead sailor."

"I thought you said my hands weren't needed?"

"They're not. He died four months ago."

"From food poisoning?"

"That's what the hospital in St Croix said. But his wife's having trouble swallowing that."

"Well, it is rare for a person of average health to expire in such a way," Ducky said. "What do you know about his medical history?"

"Not much. We're finding out. Late 20s, above-average health." He paused to recall the details Alicia had given them. "Fell sick a few hours after dinner on a cruise ship. Vomiting, fever, couldn't keep fluids down. Was put on a drip when he reached land, but had some seizures and passed away in the morning."

"Hmm," Ducky grunted. "Were other passengers affected? Food poisoning on cruise ships is not uncommon, and—"

"A couple of other passengers ate bad fish in port," Gibbs cut in. "Our sailor didn't eat the same thing."

"It does sound odd," Ducky admitted. "What did the toxicology find?"

"No autopsy."

"Ah."

"You think that sounds like food poisoning?"

"Well, at a blush it certainly does," Ducky said. "It also sounds like a lot of other things. Food poisoning, however, has a way of making it out of the body with the expulsion of bodily fluids. Your sailor could very well have been violently ill, if the case was severe enough. But if he was being given fluids intravenously he should have recovered in two or three days." He paused. "Seizures are less common in food poisoning cases, but they do occur."

"They're more consistent with other kinds of poisoning, though," Gibbs said.

"Generally." Ducky sighed. "It is hard to comment, Jethro, without seeing this young man's medical records, and whatever records the physician on the cruise liner kept."

"Ziva's getting 'em," Gibbs told him. "Reports from the hospital that treated him in St Croix, too."

"Should I come in?"

"No," Gibbs said with a shake of his head. "It can wait."

"Well, I shall be very interested to read up on our sailor in the morning," Ducky said. "Of course, you can always call me before that."

"Don't think I won't," Gibbs said with a half-smile.

"However, perhaps you could wait a few more hours?" Ducky suggested. "I still have a few holes to go."

Gibbs smiled wider. "Take it easy, Duck," he said, and then hung up.

…

"I went on a cruise once."

It was mid-afternoon and Tony had been left at his desk with little to do since he'd finally gotten hold of Borin two hours ago. Now he was waiting for her to arrive with the case file of not only Will Crawford's death, but of a few other smaller crimes that had been reported on the Caribbean Carnivalé in the last few months. With McGee focused on looking into John and Sacha Paulson's affairs and Ziva making threats to hospital administrators in St Croix, Tony was bored. The only thing for it was to start talking.

"I was seven," he went on, as if his colleagues were listening. "My parents were focused on the casino and the bar, and I spent a week with a bunch of other kids who were bored out of their minds while their parents had a blast. The buffet was good, though. And the teen girls in bikinis," he finished wistfully.

Ziva held her hand over the mouthpiece of her phone and blinked lazily at him. He figured she was on hold. "I have the impression that cruise liners have improved since the '70s."

Tony blinked his thoughts away from the last time he'd seen that lazy expression on her face—just that morning when she'd woken up on his chest—and pulled up the Caribbean Carnivalé webpage again. "Obligatory casino, but this ship also has a water park with slides, four pools, a park with palm trees, a putting green, two theatres, 26 restaurants, basketball court, tennis court and a goddamn rock climbing wall."

"Doesn't sound that bad," McGee muttered from his corner of the room.

"And there are cocktail bars everywhere," Tony added. "I might be getting old, but I'm with McGoldenGirls. Sounds better than my last vacation."

"Your last vacation was three years ago to a funeral," Ziva pointed out.

Tony nodded. "I know." He brought up the page that detailed the amenities in one of the mid-priced staterooms with a balcony. "TV's only 42 inches, but I guess you can't have everything."

"I do not think you are supposed to spend much time in your room, Tony," Ziva said.

"Honeymooners would."

Ziva cocked her eyebrow at him. "Watching _TV?_ "

Tony shrugged. "Yes."

She looked fleetingly disappointed before her attention was drawn by someone on the other end of her phone call. "Yes! I am here." She paused and then clenched her jaw and her fist in tandem. "No, it is Ziva David. Z-I-V-A dot D-A-V-I-D." She paused again. "Yes. _Like the boy's name_."

Tony looked over at McGee, ready to share a smirk over her irritation, but McGee spoiled his fun. Although he was rolling his eyes at hearing Ziva spell her name for the five thousandth time, it was in sympathy. And he wasn't looking at Tony anyway.

"I need it urgently for an investigation," Ziva went on. "So if you could _please_ send it to me as soon as—" She broke off, and then her tine brightened significantly. "Oh! It just arrived. Thank you very much." She hung up the phone and then made an obscene gesture at it and muttered something in Hebrew Tony knew her mother would have scolded her for.

Tony got up and wandered over to sit behind her again. "What've you got there, Miss Z-I-V-A-D-A-V-I-D?"

"The urge to strangle the next administrator I come across," she gritted out, and stabbed her index finger down hard on her _enter_ key.

He thought about reaching over to kneed her neck again like he had that morning—she'd sure seemed to like that—but settled for a warning, "Easy, tiger."

"This is not how I wanted to spend my day," she grumbled, and then looked up at him abruptly. "Do you know how I started my morning?"

Tony froze. And once Ziva's brain caught up with her words, she froze too. They were both all too aware of exactly how she started her day. But the fact that she was bringing it up now—albeit by accident—as an example of where she'd rather be made Tony's pulse quicken. He didn't quite know what to say, though. It should have been a simple question, but it wasn't. And it was made more difficult by the fact that McGee was sitting there across the bullpen and watching his colleagues watch each other.

"Noooo," McGee drawled from his desk, sensing that something _untoward_ was afoot. "How did you start your morning, Ziiiivaaaa?"

Tony returned to his desk as casually as possible. Ziva wasn't quite as successful in her casual response.

"I slept in," she told McGee.

McGee nodded, but kept watching her with interest. "Hey, you didn't say how your night with Borin was."

"It was fun," Ziva told him, and then shot him a more natural smile. "You should come with us next time."

McGee nodded. "Yeah, I will. Was it a late night?"

At his desk, Tony rolled his eyes over McGee's interrogation technique.

"Not really," Ziva replied. "Borin had to work early this morning."

McGee glanced between Tony and Ziva. He thought for a moment, and then made what had to be a deliberately provocative comment. "Tony said that you and Borin shouldn't be allowed together without a chaperone."

Ziva's eyes shot over to Tony, and as she looked at him accusingly, Tony held his hands up in defense. "I did not say that!" he argued. "I said that it's good if a third person is there to make sure you two don't…" He trailed off when he couldn't think of a less inflammatory way of saying that they were trouble.

McGee said it for him. "End up maiming someone."

Tony chuckled nervously under Ziva's gaze. "It sounds worse than I intended it to."

To his relief, Ziva just smirked and returned to her work. Which was good, because Tony would have hated to end a day that started so very nicely with his blood spilled. He blew out slowly and then shot a death glare at McGee. Tim just grinned.

"You know, probie," he began, "if you want my job so bad there are better ways to get it than leading Ziva to kill me."

"She won't need to if I find out you're not doing any work," Gibbs said as he strode back into the bullpen at full speed.

Tony, Ziva and McGee all sat up a little straighter at Gibbs' appearance. And even though he was feeling a little tired of Gibbs' routine, Tony played along.

"We're working, boss," he said. "All six cylinders."

Gibbs dropped his coffee up in the trash. "Then tell me what you've got."

Tony, McGee and Ziva looked at each other, and then each held out their fists. After _1, 2, 3,_ McGee's paper beat Tony and Ziva's rocks. He got out of his seat, grabbed the clicker and brought up a real estate listing on the plasma screen.

"This is the house in Charleston, that John and Sacha Paulson live in," McGee said, gesturing at the photos of the preserved two-storey colonial.

Tony and Ziva both got to their feet and walked over to gawk at the grand and beautiful house and grounds.

McGee nodded at their reactions. "Yeah, it's in the South of Broad district overlooking the Battery. Built in 1890 with five bedrooms, three baths, eleven-foot ceilings, wine cellar, open fireplaces, six chandeliers and a formal dining room that seats 16. It was bought at auction for $2.4 million three years ago. That was at the height of the housing slump, by the way."

"Swanky," Tony murmured. "My cousin bought a house like that back in '97. It's got to be worth millions."

"The Paulsons own two cars," McGee went on as Tony reached out longingly towards the TV screen, and then snatched his hand back quickly before Gibbs could smack it. "A 2012 Mercedes-Benz E 350 and a 2012 Lexus convertible. They've been on eight cruises in the last three years, and have also visited London, Abu Dhabi and Sydney."

"And he's a toy maker," Tony said with disbelief.

"And she is a drug sales rep?" Ziva added.

Gibbs asked the question they were all thinking. "Where's the money coming from?"

McGee pulled up a photo of a raven-haired man with graying temples and an artificially smooth forehead. "Meet Jim Paulson, John's big brother and financier. The house is owned by Jim, and he signed the checks on the cars before they were registered in his little brother's name."

"Did John give him a kidney or something?" Tony had to ask.

Gibbs cut off any response to that McGee might've had. "Where's _his_ money coming from?"

"I haven't been able to track that down," McGee admitted. "But I'm thinking proceeds of crime. Jim has two bank accounts in his name with a combined balance of just over $26,000. But he lives larger than his brother."

"Employed?"

McGee nodded. "As a physical therapist in Manhattan. He makes a decent living, but not one that would set him up in an apartment overlooking Central Park."

"Something is hinky here," Ziva declared.

"Hinky or not, it doesn't make John Paulson a killer," Gibbs said. He turned to Tony. "You talk to Borin yet?"

"She's pulling files for us," Tony said with a nod.

Gibbs looked around the bullpen and held his hands out in question. "So, where is she?"

Tony glanced at Ziva—hadn't he already answered that?—and answered again. "Pulling files, boss. She'll be here later."

Gibbs swung around to look at Ziva. "Medical report?"

Ziva took the clicker out of McGee's hand and brought up the file from the Caribbean Carnivalé. "The ship's file contains little information. What is there simply corroborates Alicia Crawford's version of events. The ship's physician, Dr Mona Mercurio, was called to the Crawfords' room at 0143 where she found Ensign Crawford vomiting and with a fever. He was transported down to the infirmary where they tried to give him fluids, but he could not keep them down. There is no record of Ensign Crawford being given any drugs by Dr Mercurio." She clicked onto the next page. "They called ahead to the hospital in St Croix at 0530 to ask them to have an ambulance waiting when the ship arrived in port at 0700. That is the end of the ship's file."

She brought up the next file from St Mary's Hospital in St Croix. "On shore, Ensign Crawford was treated for acute food poisoning. He was put on an IV and given Demerol. Shortly after arriving he had a seizure and went into cardiac arrest. CPR was performed but was unsuccessful and he passed away. His time of death is listed as 0842."

"Alicia said they took blood from him," Gibbs said.

"It was not tested," Ziva replied. "However the administrator I spoke to said the hospital would still have it."

"Send those to Ducky," Gibbs told her.

"I already forwarded them."

Gibbs stared at all the information on the screen in front of him, trying to find evidence of a crime. Tony was too, but with the information they had so far, there was nothing to say there had been one.

"Special Agent Rory Crocker called in," he told Gibbs. "He boarded the Caribbean Carnivalé with an agent from the Coast Guard when it returned to Port in Ft Lauderdale. He interviewed Dr Mercurio as well as the head of security, the ship's concierge and staff who worked in the kitchen serving the food Ensign Crawford ate that night. They didn't find anything that made them think that he got sick from food served on the ship, but thought it was likely he ate bad food on shore in San Juan."

Gibbs sighed heavily, and it was clear that he was losing his patience for treating this case as anything other than a serving of bad luck. "Anything else?"

"Just one thing," McGee said. "John and Sacha Paulson? They're booked on another cruise through the east Caribbean, departing at the end of this week. Same itinerary as the cruise they took with the Crawfords."

"Proceeds of crime," Gibbs muttered. "Still doesn't have anything to do with Will Crawford."

"Unless he found out what that crime was," Ziva said. "Alicia said he saw something and was going to report them."

"Want us to get local LEOs to pick them up for questioning?" McGee asked.

Gibbs stared at the plasma screen for a little while longer, but eventually shook his head. "No. We'll wait to hear what Borin has."

* * *

So, I'm receiving the message loud and clear that most readers are not terribly interested in chapters that don't involve copious amounts of Tony/Ziva relationship fun. That's okay! We're all after different things from what we read. I can't tell you this story will change. It *is* a case fic. But there is a lot of Tony/Ziva relationship fun to come-promise!


	4. Chapter 4

When Ziva arrived at work the next morning she was in a thoughtful mood. After waking up on her couch in a relaxed cocoon of DiNozzo the previous morning, she hadn't had much time during the day to think about how it had happened or what it meant. While the case work they'd begun yesterday hadn't been as intense or urgent as one of their normal cases, there had been enough to do to keep her mind from wandering back to how nice it had felt to wake up like that and how comfortable Tony had seemed. But after returning home after work, she had nothing _but_ time to think about it.

It was not the first time they had shared a bed. Just weeks ago they'd slept side-by-side in wet and wild Miami, and even with the benefit of a queen-sized bed on that occasion they had still remained touching each other through the night. One night in Paris he'd let her sleep curled up against his side while his hand on her hip kept her grounded. They had shared a hotel room bed for a few nights soon after they had met, and there had _definitely_ been some snuggling going on then (albeit the awake and completely aware type). They had fallen asleep on each other's shoulders on flights all around the world, and once upon a time during a particularly long and drawn-out case, they'd even done it on the floor in the bullpen.

But the previous morning was the first one that they'd ever woken up so entwined. And it was the first one where they'd woken up and looked at each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. Somehow it had felt like it was something they were just _doing_ now, but she had missed the conversation where they decided that was the way it was going to be. She didn't mind that it was happening, of course. She just felt a little confused. But then, when it came to her relationship with Tony, what else was new?

The trip they had taken to Miami had been in the lead up to the purported Rapture. The end of days. Neither of them had taken the warnings of doomsday prophets seriously, of course, but on the night the world was supposed to end, Tony had kissed her. It wasn't a chaste kiss between friends who were sharing a joke, but the kind that had turned her bones to Jell-O and set fire to her underwear. Shortly after that kiss Tony had gone home, and the next day they had been a little uncertain around each other. She hadn't regretted the kiss, and neither had Tony. She could read in his face that he wanted another one as much as she did, and for a few days they both seemed to advance and retreat out of sync with each other. Then things had just sort of gone back to normal, where they shared a lot of heavy looks, the occasional electric touch, and generally teased each other to make the first move. It was absolutely maddening.

And then…DiNozzo cocoon. It seemed as though they were beginning to advance on each other again. And this time Ziva desperately wanted them to be in sync. She felt ready for it. She thought he was, too. It was just about time to sit down and work out what the hell they were going to do.

But first, they had a case to solve.

As usual, Ziva beat the rest of the team into work that Sunday morning. But she didn't beat Borin, who was sitting in Tony's chair with her feet up on his desk and a cup of coffee in her hand. The Coast Guard Special Agent had gotten back in touch with Gibbs the previous afternoon to apologize that she wouldn't be able to make it as planned. An active case had required her immediate attention and she couldn't go on a field trip to the Navy Yard. But she promised she'd be there to take them through her Caribbean Carnivalé files bright and early the next morning. She'd kept her word—particularly the 'early' one. As Ziva rounded the corner, Borin smiled at her and then made a point of looking at her watch.

"You guys start late here," she baited.

Ziva dropped her backpack beside her desk and then walked over to stand by Tony's desk. "It is Sunday," she said. "We get to start an hour later on Sundays."

"Well, that sounds entirely too reasonable for Gibbs," Borin drawled.

It always had to Ziva as well, but she was smart enough not to mention it. She gestured at Borin. "You had a look over your files?" she guessed, bringing up the reason for Borin's visit.

Borin nodded and swung her legs off Tony's desk. "Yeah, and call me crazy but I think there might be something to your widow's story."

"What did you find?"

Borin glanced towards the elevator. "How much longer do you think Gibbs will be?"

"Not long."

"Save me from repeating myself?" Borin asked.

Ziva shrugged and returned to her desk. "Of course." She sat down and booted up her computer. By the time she entered her password, she became aware that Borin was staring at her. She looked up in question, and a knowing smile broke over Borin's face. Ziva wasn't sure that she liked it.

"Got a question for you," Borin said.

"Ask it."

"You and DiNozzo," she started, but changed what she was going to say at the sharp look of warning that Ziva shot at her. "No, just wait."

"We are not dating," Ziva told her, cutting to the chase. It was the truth.

"I know," Borin said with a confidence that ended up stinging Ziva's pride. "But I'm curious about the coziness."

"Coziness?"

"Your little twosome amongst the foursome."

Ziva gave Borin her most impassive look, and then went of the offensive. "Did you feel left out the other night?"

"Nope. I think that was DiNozzo." Borin stood up and walked over to Ziva's desk. "I think we got loud and he got intimidated."

"Introspective," Ziva corrected, and then frowned. "He thinks were are trouble."

"You and him?"

"No, me and you," she said.

Borin chuckled. "Not yet. But we could be." She rested her hip on the corner of Ziva's desk. "Tell me about the coziness."

Ziva sighed heavily, and her eyes implored Borin to drop it. But Borin just returned a pleading look.

"Come on. I haven't had a date in a year. Let me live vicariously through you."

Ziva crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. "Oh, you want me to tell you about the last man I dated who proposed in a very inappropriate way and is now doing a minimum of 20 years in prison for murder?"

Borin's shoulders slumped. "No. That sounds really depressing. I want you to tell me about what you and Tony did after I left you guys the other night. You know, the fun stuff!"

Ziva couldn't help smirking. "What makes you think we did anything?"

Borin leaned towards her a little, and her knowing smile was back. "Call it a gut feeling."

They held gazes for a moment, and Ziva's heart started pounding with the anticipation of spilling her guts. She knew that she shouldn't. She did not know Borin all that well, and she was still a colleague more than a friend. But she knew instinctively that Borin was someone to be trusted, and she had to admit that the lure of talking it all over with someone who could understand the professional predicament a relationship with her partner would bring was strong. Of course, Ziva knew she could always talk to Abby. The forensic scientist would probably jump at the chance to have what some women would call a 'girly' talk about Ziva's love life. But she had always felt as though Abby was just a little too close to the situation to be impartial. Borin felt safer.

She felt her resistance wane and leaned forward again. But before she could tell Borin about the DiNozzo cocoon, she heard the elevator ding and felt a tingle on the back of her neck. It was too late.

"Gibbs is here," she said.

Borin, who had seemed to sense that Ziva was about to share her thoughts, frowned at the new and unexpected direction of their conversation. "What's that?"

"Gibbs," Ziva repeated, and pointed behind Borin at the flash of sports coat and coffee passing behind her.

Borin straightened and twisted to look around. Sure enough, Gibbs had arrived and had almost reached his desk. Borin stood up again.

"Morning, Gibbs."

"You bring your files?" Gibbs asked by way of greeting.

Borin took no offence at him cutting right to the chase. She dug a USB drive out of her pocket and handed it to Ziva. "Six of them," she said. "Should we wait for the others?"

"Nope."

"Okay." Borin glanced at Ziva, who brought up her files on the plasma screen. "In the last six months there have been 20 incidents on board the Caribbean Carnivalé that the Coast Guard has investigated. Five assaults, 12 thefts, two sexual assaults and the death of Ensign Crawford."

"You bring charges on any of the others?" Gibbs asked.

Borin shook her head as Ziva stood and joined the two of them in front of the plasma. "None of them really had any legs," Borin said. "An ID was made in one of the attempted sexual assaults, but there were no witnesses, no evidence, and both parties had been drinking heavily. The most recent assault case involved a passenger named Ken Klein. He was beaten up on his last night at sea, but he couldn't remember seeing who did it."

"He was beaten severely?" Ziva asked.

"Not so bad," Borin said dismissively. "He got a black eye and some cuts, and he passed out. But he was cleared of a concussion. Surprise, surprise, he'd been drinking pretty heavily as well."

"Is that all people do on cruises?"

Borin shrugged. "It seems like it."

"When did this happen?" Gibbs asked.

"Uh…" Borin looked around for the clicker, and Ziva grabbed it from the corner of McGee's desk to hand it over. Borin hit a button, which brought up the next file on the screen, and she kept hitting it until she got to the right place. "Okay, it was reported as having taken place on June 23."

Something pined in Ziva's head. "Gibbs, the Paulsons were on board the Caribbean Carnivalé on June 23. That was the trip they took after the one they shared with the Crawfords."

Borin 'tsk'ed at her. "I was just getting to that," she admonished gently.

"Sorry."

Borin looked at Gibbs. "Like I said, this guy Klein couldn't remember seeing who did it. But he did report that he had an altercation with John Paulson the day before the attack. Apparently Klein saw Paulson in port in the Dominican Republic buying kids toys, but they didn't have kids with them."

"Dominican Republic," Ziva repeated. "That is the port where Alicia Crawford said her husband saw something he wanted to report to ship security."

Borin nodded. "Right. Klein said he later heard Paulson talking to another passenger about making a drop in Key West. He saw them take the toys off the ship, but didn't return with them. Paulson noticed him staring and yelled at him to mind his own business. That night, Klein got beaten up."

"Paulson's occupation is a toy maker," Gibbs said. "It wouldn't be unusual for him to buy some or give them to other people."

"What kind of toys did Klein say he bought?" Ziva asked.

"Two large stuffed bears."

Ziva looked at Gibbs. "Paulson makes wooden toys," she said. "Rocking horses."

Gibbs held her gaze for a moment, weighing up whether to add this information to the important list or not. Then he looked at Borin and smirked. "What else've you got, Borin?"

She grinned and eagerly shared what was on her mind. "We couldn't bring any charges, but the agent who worked that case had a theory that I think holds water."

"Give it to me."

"That ship is being used to smuggle something," Borin said. "Paulson's in on it. So is the other passenger who Klein saw him talking to about the drop. And I reckon they'd need to have someone on the ship working with them too who helps them get things on the ship from the Dominican Republic."

"What things?" Ziva wanted to know.

"Drugs, guns, money," Borin said. "Take your pick."

"Not guns," Gibbs said, shaking his head. "You don't pick up guns from the Dominican Republic and drop them in Florida. Everyone already has a gun in Florida."

"But there is always a market for cocaine," Ziva said.

"Colombia is a big supplier," Borin added. "And these days one of the best ways to get Colombian cocaine to the US is via someplace else. Like the Dominican Republic or Puerto Rico."

"Smugglers could make a lot of money," Ziva said to Gibbs. "Especially if it is a family business."

"Paulson and his brother," Gibbs said.

She nodded. "Their spending habits do not match their incomes. We know this."

"Right now that doesn't have anything to do with the death of Ensign Crawford."

"No," Ziva said slowly. "But Alicia said he saw something disturbing on their day trip to the Dominican Republic, which is where Klein also saw something. And they have both implicated the Paulsons. The incidents happened on the same ship and on the same route. They could be coincidences, but we do not believe in coincidences."

Gibbs gave her a flat look and then turned back to the plasma. He tapped Klein's photo. "This guy. Klein. We need to talk to him again. I want to know if he's remembered who attacked him."

"I'll talk to him," Borin said.

Ziva and Gibbs both looked at her with surprise.

Borin pointed to herself. "Klein's case is a Coast Guard case," she said obviously. "At least right now. And if it looks like this case really is related to yours, then they'll both become _ours_."

Gibbs watched her for a moment before breaking into a smirk. "Take Ziva with you."

Borin smiled at the compromise. "Happy to."

Ziva turned to retrieve her backpack, and then joined Borin at the mouth of the bullpen. "Where does Klein live?"

"Virginia Beach," Borin said, then turned her head to address Gibbs over her shoulder. "We'll be a little while."

Gibbs sat at his desk and stabbed at his keyboard. "Then you better come back with some evidence."

Ziva and Borin smirked at each other and headed for the elevator. The doors opened just before they reached it and Tony stepped out looking relaxed and not even a little bit concerned that he was late for work. His smile brightened when he saw them.

"Hey! Where are you two off to already? Are you getting coffee?"

"We're going fishing, DiNozzo," Borin replied, and stepped into the elevator.

Tony frowned with confusion. "Fishing?" He looked at Ziva for a translation.

"Interviewing a witness," Ziva told him, and joined Borin in the elevator.

Tony retraced his steps to the lift. "Witness?" he asked, standing on the other side of the doors. "We have a witness? I'm ten minutes late. How much did I miss?"

"Less than McGee," Ziva replied, and then the doors closed. She turned to Borin. "You know, it is not like McGee to be so late."

Borin shrugged. "Maybe he spent the night hiding sausages again."

…

Ken Klein was the kind of man who people probably forgot about almost as soon as they had met him. He was average height, average weight and had mid-brown hair cut into an average style. None of his facial features were particularly odd, interesting or attractive. There was nothing about his chinos and polo shirt that would have made him stand out from the crowd. He didn't have any visible scars or tattoos, and he spoke with a mainstream accent that could have placed his birthplace in any one of 40 states. The guy was utterly average.

He was, however, noticeably annoyed by two federal agents showing up at his cookie cutter home on a Sunday morning. But even then he made an effort to get over it and politely invite them inside for a cup of coffee at a table covered by the Sunday papers.

"Sorry about the mess," he told them. "We weren't expecting company."

The 'we' he referred to included himself, his wife, Lollie, and their white puffball Pomeranian who yapped at Ziva and Borin at an ear-splitting frequency. Lollie wasn't there to meet the agents, Ken explained, because she had already left for her regular Sunday morning session at the gym. A photo of the two of them in the hallway showed a very average man standing over a woman who looked like she had walked off the set of _The Real Housewives of New Jersey_.

"We don't want to take up too much of your time, Mr Klein," Borin told him. "We just have some follow up questions about the assault on you on the Caribbean Carnivalé in June."

Klein looked between them with suspicion as he fed the puffball a morsel of bacon off his plate. "Yeah? It's been two months. Have you got some new information on who was responsible for handing my ass to me?"

"Actually, we were hoping you might," Ziva said. "Have you thought about the incident recently? Have you recalled any new information that might help us pin down the person responsible?"

Klein looked at her like he wasn't following her line of questioning. "Aren't you guys the investigators?" he pointed out.

"It is not uncommon to lose portions of your memory around the time of an attack or an accident," Ziva said. "But with time, these memories can return."

Klein ran a hand through his hair and sat back in his chair. "I don't know," he said, almost regretfully. "I remember having dinner that night. I remember going for a walk around the deck. Then I remember being in the infirmary with blood all over my face." He waved his hand through the air. "There's a vague memory of some kind of scuffle in there, but I've never been able to grab on to it."

Borin pulled out her iPad Mini and showed Klein a photo of John Paulson. "Do you recognize this man?"

Klein leaned forward abruptly. "Yeah, sure. That's, uh…John something. His surname is another first name." He glanced at Ziva. "You shouldn't trust people with a first name for a surname, you know that?"

Ziva smiled politely.

"His name is John Paulson," Borin told him.

Klein clicked his fingers, inadvertently scaring his dog in the process. "Yeah! Paulson. That's it. He was on the same cruise. I can't prove it, or else I would have already. But I've always had a feeling he and his buddy were the ones who beat me up."

Borin referred to her notes on her iPad. "In our initial investigation of your attack, you told the agent in charge that you had seen Paulson engaging in some strange behavior."

Klein shrugged. "Strange, yeah. I don't know if it was illegal."

"What happened?"

"We'd docked in the Dominican Republic for the day," Klein told them, and looked between them. "Have you ever been there?"

Ziva and Borin both shook their heads.

Klein smiled as his eyes fell to the table. "It's beautiful there. Crystal clear water. Palm trees. Color everywhere. Me and Lollie were having lunch that this place on the beach, and I saw Paulson and his buddy go into this shop across the road. I mean, I guess it was a shop. It didn't have a sign up or anything, but it wasn't a restaurant either. I didn't think anything of it until I saw them come out again about half an hour later, and they were both carrying these big stuffed teddy bears. That was kind of…unexpected, I guess."

"How big were the bears?" Ziva asked. If there were drugs stuffed into them, she wanted an idea of how much they were talking about.

Klein held his hands up, about two feet apart. "Not person-sized or anything. But bigger than what you'd give to a real small kid."

"And then what?" Borin asked.

"He looked across the street at me," Klein said. "And I just smiled and nodded, because we'd crossed paths a couple of times on the ship. I was just being friendly. I didn't see him again until a day or two later, and I just brought it up with him. Making conversation. I asked if they were for his kids, but he just said no, they were for friends. And he seemed kind of annoyed that I'd asked."

"Did he say anything about where these friends were?" Ziva asked.

Klein thought about it and then shook his head. "No. But I thought he might've meant they were back home."

"What happened then?"

"I guess nothing until our second last day," Klein said. "We'd docked in Key West for the day, and we were all lining up to get off the ship. I saw Paulson and his friend up ahead, and they were holding those teddy bears again. I nudged Lollie and we were sort of talking to ourselves about it when Paulson looked over and saw us looking and talking. And he looked pissed. Like, he didn't say anything, but you could just see in his eyes that he was angry. Over what, you know? Seemed weird."

"He took the bears off the ship?" Ziva checked.

Klein nodded. "Uh-huh. And later that night I saw him and his friend get back on board, and they didn't have them. And I guess I'm not a very good spy, or else I'm just really good at being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Because he saw me looked at him again, and he said something to his friend, and they both looked really angry with me."

"You keep talking about his friend," Borin said. "Who was that?"

"I think his name was Mike. Mike, um…Rowe?" Klein paused and chuckled. "No, that's the guy on Discovery Channel. It wasn't him. But it was something like that. And he was traveling with his wife, but I never got her name."

"Did it seem as though they'd just met on the cruise?" Ziva asked.

"Couldn't say," Klein replied. "We didn't spend enough time with either of them."

"Would you be able to identify him if you saw him again?"

"Yeah, probably."

Ziva nodded and looked at Borin. The interview had not been as fruitful as she had hoped, but she couldn't think of anything else they could ask him. But Borin had one more thing.

"Do you, by any chance, have any pictures from the cruise that you could lend us?" she asked. "It might help us to look at the people in the background."

Klein didn't look particularly enthusiastic about that. "Uh, I'd kind of prefer not to."

Ziva plastered a kind smile on her face. "Mr Klein, we are not interested in seeing any _personal_ photos you might have. Just those with other cruisers in the background."

Klein swallowed audibly. "Who are you going to share them with?"

"No one," Borin assured him. "Just our team."

Klein slowly got to his feet and shuffled towards the kitchen door. "Wait here, please," he muttered, and then left the room.

Borin turned to look at Ziva with wide eyes. "Naked selfies?" she suggested in a whisper.

Ziva made a face. "I hope not."

Borin leaned down and held her hand out to the Pomeranian who was sitting obediently by her master's chair and staring at them with all the suspicion that a tiny dog could muster. "Hi, puppy," she cooed, trying to get it to come closer for a pat. The dog didn't move. Borin 'tsk'ed to herself and sat up straight again. "Whatever," she said dismissively.

"We will have to check the passenger manifests for the cruises that the Paulsons were on and see if Mike Rowe turned up on any of them," Ziva said.

"I have an inappropriate crush on that guy," Borin said. "And I would just _love_ to question him."

Ziva wasn't entirely sure who the man in question was, but Klein returned before she could ask. He handed Borin a USB drive, but couldn't meet her eyes.

"Please, just…keep them private," he said. "Me and Lollie don't need the exposure."

"Of course," Borin said with a professional smile.

Klein stood awkwardly in front of them as they got to their feet.

"Thank you for your time, Mr Klein," Ziva told him.

"Sure," he said, and followed them down the hallway to the front door. "But I gotta ask. How is looking at these pictures going to help confirm Paulson was the guy who beat me up?"

Borin stopped at the door and shared a fleeting, guilty look with Ziva before addressing Klein. "Maybe it won't," she told him honestly. "But if we notice anyone suspicious then we can track them down and question them about what they saw."

It didn't make much sense, but Klein nodded along. "Okay."

Borin nodded and opened the door, and she and Ziva stepped out onto the porch.

"Thank you again," Ziva threw over her shoulder.

Klein nodded as the agents stepped down onto the path leading to the driveway. They were halfway to the car when he called out to them. "You're going to return those photos, right?"

"Of course," Borin called back to him. "I promise we will take the utmost care."

They got into Borin's car, and before she'd even started the engine she said, "I can't wait to see what's on that drive."

Ziva snorted. "Perhaps you and Tony would make a better investigative pair than you and I. He will be most happy to go through the photos with you. And he will probably bring popcorn."

Borin smirked as she backed down the driveway, and then put the car in drive and took off quickly. "I could have guessed that about him."

Ziva looked over at her with fleeting guilt. "I do not think we were entirely upfront with Klein about our reason for questioning him."

Borin waved her hand between them dismissively. "Yeah, but who knows? If we can pin Paulson for killing Crawford, then we might be able to get him to confess to beating up Klein as well."

"Perhaps."

Borin turned off Klein's street to join the heavier traffic on the arterial road, and then immediately laid on the horn at the slow-moving traffic. "Goddamn Sunday drivers," she muttered. "I hate them so much."

Ziva smiled to herself. On the way to Klein's house Borin had driven quickly, aggressively and recklessly. She made a mental note to hold Borin up as an example of 'bad' driving the next tome Tony or McGee gave her crap about how many accidents she had, or about wanting to be a NASCAR driver.

After ten minutes of swearing, horn-blaring and illegal maneuvering before they made it to the expressway. The traffic was just as heavy but it was moving much faster and Borin's mood brightened considerably. She adjusted her sunglasses and threw a smile at Ziva.

"So. I believe you were going to tell me all about Tony."

Ziva chuckled to herself. She had thought that Borin had forgotten about that. While she had been on the brink of discussing it in the bullpen, now she had lost her nerve. She played coy in the hope that Borin would drop it. "Oh, is that what you thought?"

Borin looked like she couldn't believe Ziva was trying to deny it. "Oh, come on. I spend my days questioning people. I know the look they get on their faces when they're about to spill their secrets. It's the same look you had before Gibbs walked in and ruined everything."

For a moment Ziva forgot all about Tony as she dealt with being offended by the idea that Borin could break her in an interrogation. Even if that was what had been about to happen. "I was not about to talk," she lied.

Borin took her eyes off the road to give her passenger her second incredulous look in under a minute. "Yes, you were," she argued.

Ziva crossed her arms defensively. "You would not believe the interrogations and physical torture I have stood up to," she said stubbornly. "And I have never broken."

Whether Borin believed her or not, Ziva wasn't sure. But she must have at least sensed something in Ziva's tone that told her not to erode her pride any further. She dipped her head and let Ziva have her way.

"Okay. Let's not consider talking about ourselves as 'breaking'," Borin suggested. "Let's consider it as just being friends."

"Fine."

"Fine." Borin paused for a beat. "So, buddy. Tell me about you and Tony."

Ziva closed her eyes over a quiet sigh. "I do not know what to say."

"There's interest there."

Ziva didn't reply. Of course there was interest there, but saying it aloud to another person was difficult.

"There's more than interest there," Borin continued. "There are strong and ongoing adult feelings."

Ziva frowned slightly. That sounded rather...formal.

"Feelings that aren't just about screwing."

Ziva's head turned at the unexpected and contrasting language. Borin was wearing that knowing grin again.

"Would you tell him?" Borin asked.

"Tell him what, exactly?" Ziva asked.

Borin switched lanes without looking so she could overtake an old Ford pickup. "That you want to jump his bones."

Ziva stared at her as she tried to work out how to answer. She tried to bring the conversation back to something that would not get her in quite as much trouble. "Look, Tony and I…our relationship is very…complicated."

"That's obvious," Borin said.

Ziva turned her head to look out the window and tried to order her thoughts. "We are at a delicate place," she said.

"Are you thinking of making a move on him?" Borin asked.

Ziva didn't quite know how to respond to that. Technically, moves had been made. Now they were just trying to work out what the next move was, and how big it should be.

"Are you worried about him turning you down?" Borin pushed when Ziva didn't respond. "Because I doubt he would. I mean, I don't know your relationship or even your partnership that well. But it's clear to even the most casual observer that you guys are special to each other."

Ziva's heartbeat picked up. "Yes," she admitted. "But that does not necessarily mean that we will get what we want."

"Of course it doesn't," Borin agreed. "But doing something gives you a 100 per cent better chance at getting something than doing nothing does. Right?"

Ziva turned her head to look at her. "Yes. But doing something still needs to be done delicately. Carefully. With consideration."

Borin scrunched her nose at her disagreeably. "I don't associate any of those words with either of you."

It was the truth, and Ziva had to chuckle. "Fine. But in this case, a measured approach is for the best."

"Maybe," Borin said. "Or maybe it'll lead to us still having this conversation in another eight years." She paused as a stab of disappointment went through Ziva's chest. "How does that sound to you?"

 _Unbearably frustrating_ , Ziva thought to herself. If she had to wait another eight years to wake up with Tony like she had yesterday, Ziva knew she would lose her mind.

Borin was right. She really had to make a move.

* * *

 **So, some case work but also a good dose of Borin. Yay, Borin! Thanks all for continuing to read and leave notes. You'd be forgiven for not believing me, but I promise there is a big T/Z side of this story coming.**


	5. Chapter 5

It's my 7th anniversary on fanfiction. Good lord. Two or three years too many, yes?

* * *

"What the hell is taking them so long?"

McGee looked up from his computer screen to look over at his partner. Tony was staring thoughtfully at Ziva's desk. Or was that suspiciously? "You think they're up to no good?" he joked. "I know you're jealous of Ziva and Borin's play time, Tony, but they're probably not going to get themselves into a shootout without calling for backup—" He stopped mid-thought and frowned as Tony looked over at him nervously. McGee cleared his throat and revised his statement. "Actually, that definitely sounds like something that Ziva would do on her own. But maybe Borin will be a calming influence on her."

Tony snorted. "I'm yet to meet the person who has a calming influence on Ziva David."

"What about her friend Schmiel?"

McGee wasn't sure, but he thought a flicker of amusement crossed Tony's face. "Schmiel is not a man. He's some kind of God of wisdom."

"Who has a calming effect on Ziva," McGee said, making his point more obviously.

Tony's brow furrowed as he looked back at Ziva's desk. "No, I don't think he calms her, exactly. He just makes her…happy." He paused and then murmured to himself. "I wonder how he does that."

McGee was not looking to get into any kind of discussion revolving around Ziva's happiness and how Tony could be a part of it, so he moved the conversation along. "I'm sure they're fine, Tony. They're probably just grabbing lunch on their way back."

Tony perked up as his thoughts turned from concern about their whereabouts to interest in being fed. "I wonder if they'd pick me up a gyro."

"Or perhaps a nice grilled chicken salad."

Tony and McGee looked up as Ducky entered the bullpen. With his white lab coat on and folder in hand he looked every part the doctor. But Tony didn't like the nutritional advice he was dispensing.

"Salad, Ducky?" he questioned, and screwed up his nose in distaste.

Ducky looked down at him with a practiced frown of disappointment. "Your cholesterol is still a touch too high, Anthony," Ducky told him sternly. "I would be more comfortable if you were to bring it down a point."

Tony dropped his head back tiredly and let out a frustrated groan. "Give me a break!" he begged. "I dine _el desko_ at least five days a week. It's hard to eat properly in this environment."

Ducky didn't seem swayed by his argument. "Then perhaps you should take more exercise."

Tony screwed up his face again. "Does it have to be one or the other?"

"It should be both," Ducky told him over McGee's chuckles.

Tony groaned again and then shot a glare at McGee. "Shut up, McFlurry."

"My cholesterol is fine," McGee argued.

"Yes, but you're low on iron," Ducky told him. "You need more green, leafy vegetables and red meat."

"Iron deficiency?" Tony mused. "Isn't that something that _women_ usually suffer from, Ducky?"

McGee rolled his eyes at Tony's smirk.

"Yes, it's far more prevalent in women," Ducky replied. "But hardly unheard of in men. Now, it is not your medical records that I wish to discuss." He waved the folder he was holding in the air. "Where is our fearless leader?"

"Coffee run," Tony and McGee replied in unison.

"He was getting jittery waiting for more news to come in, so I guess he decided he needed more caffeine to help," McGee said.

"Gibbs logic," Tony added.

"Ah."

"Is it possible to measure a man's Arabica levels, doctor?" Tony asked. "Because I bet Gibbs' coffee level is worse than my cholesterol."

"His blood pressure is perfectly normal," Ducky replied, albeit with a small smirk of disbelief.

Tony frowned, not buying it. "That can't be right," he protested. "He lives on coffee and steak, he's angry ninety per cent of the time, and people are always shooting at him. How is he dealing with his stress?"

"By smackin' you," Gibbs replied as he breezed through the bullpen and made for his desk.

Tony winced to himself at being caught out again. "Of course, boss," he said quickly. "I'm a human stress ball."

Gibbs shot him a look that suggested he'd do well to drop it, and then gestured at the folder in Ducky's hand. "What's that?"

Ducky held the folder up before handing it over. "The medical files for Ensign Crawford that Agent David was able to procure from the cruise ship and the hospital in St Croix. There is not much in either record to assist us, I'm afraid. The symptoms described in both are consistent with the ingestion of some sort of poison, but whether it was from something he willingly ate or was given to him without his knowledge, I can't say."

Gibbs sighed and lifted his eyes to the ceiling, lamenting the dearth of useful information.

"I also looked over his Navy records," Ducky went on. "Consistent with his wife's account, Ensign Crawford appeared to be in perfect health in the months before he died. No injuries, no ongoing medical issues, not even a cold."

"Allergies?" Tony asked hopefully. If they couldn't pin his death on the salad bar, maybe they could pin it on peanuts at the wet bar. But Ducky shook his head.

"There is nothing in his file regarding allergies. He was, for all intents and purposes, a perfect specimen of male health and fitness." He tapped the folder in Gibbs' hand with the arm of his glasses. "Whatever killed him snuck up on him quickly and quietly."

"Tox screen?" Gibbs asked.

Ducky nodded. "I'm yet to receive his blood sample from the hospital in St Croix, but I expect it tomorrow evening. I shall make it a priority. Assuming, of course, that it has been stored and shipped correctly and is still a useable sample."

"Is that unlikely?" McGee asked.

Ducky leaned towards him. "You would be surprised at the mistakes that so-called professionals make."

McGee was left to wonder at that when his phone rang and he excused himself.

"So what if the sample arrives and it's degraded?" Tony asked.

"Then we'll have to get creative," Gibbs told him, and then handed the folder back to Ducky. "Where're Ziva and Borin?"

"Still on the road, boss," Tony replied.

Gibbs looked annoyed. "Did she get security tape from the ship?"

"She asked about it," Tony assured him, trying to head off a Gibbs hissy fit. "They don't have any tapes from that cruise anymore. Apparently they only keep them for about a month."

"I went on a cruise once," Ducky told them. "Two weeks between Amsterdam and Budapest. I met a brilliant young forensic archaeologist named Carlotta." He rolled his tongue over her name. "We spent evenings in her cabin and talked about Juan Vucetich."

Tony didn't have a clue who that was. He looked past Ducky's shoulder to Gibbs for help, but the boss just shook his head tiredly and sat down. He looked back at Ducky. "Was that her husband?"

Ducky gave him a dirty look.

McGee hung up his desk phone and rejoined the conversation. "That was Ziva," he told her. "She said Klein fingered Paulson for his attack, but that he still doesn't actually remember the attack."

"That's not helpful," Tony commented.

"She got copies of all of his photos from the cruise so we can check for Paulson or anyone else who might've been hanging around." He looked at Gibbs. "Maybe we should try to get some photos from Mrs Crawford as well and compare them. See if there are any repeat faces or anything else hinky."

Gibbs considered that for a moment, and then nodded and stood again. He gestured at McGee. "Come on, then. With me."

Tony watched McGee gather his bag and coat and prepare to leave. "Did Ziva say anything about getting me lunch?"

"Shockingly, she didn't," McGee replied sarcastically.

Tony pouted to himself and rubbed his empty stomach. He supposed he would have to get his own damn food.

…

"Agent Gibbs! Have you found something already?"

Gibbs gave Alicia Crawford what he hoped was a comforting smile. "Not exactly," he said, and gestured vaguely between himself and McGee standing on her porch. "Can we come in?"

Alicia stepped out of the doorway and made room for the two agents to step into her parents' house. "Of course."

"This is Special Agent McGee," Gibbs introduced in the foyer.

Alicia held out her hand, and McGee had no choice but to shake it. "It's so good to meet you, Agent McGee," she said, and turned the handshake into a double-hander.

"I'm sorry for the circumstances," McGee replied.

Alicia gave him the gracious but sad smile of a widow, and steered them through to the formal sitting room. "Please, make yourselves comfortable," she said with a grand sweep of her arm.

McGee wasn't sure if that would be possible. The sitting room reminded him of the one at his dad's house. Floral wallpaper, brass sconces, walnut coffee table and a stiff couch striped with deep green, red and gold. These kinds of rooms were supposed to show visitors how wealthy the owners were, not welcome them to get comfortable and spend some time lounging around. Not that he and Gibbs were looking for that.

Alicia sat perched right on the edge of one couch, and leaned towards them eagerly. "What have you found, Agent Gibbs?" she asked.

"Our investigation is ongoing," Gibbs non-answered.

Disappointment settled on Alicia's face, but she tried to smile through it. "I guess I shouldn't hope for an arrest after only a day."

McGee pulled out his notebook. "Mrs Crawford, it could be helpful if you provided us with a list of the other passengers you spent time with on the cruise. People you met in the bar or had dinner with. Anyone you made friends with, or anyone who you kept seeing as you went about your day."

Alicia stared at him for a moment and then frowned. "You mean, _all_ of them?"

"We're trying to work out if there was anyone hanging around," Gibbs told her.

"The Paulsons," Alicia said, as if it were obvious.

McGee dutifully noted them down. "Anyone else?"

"Have you got photos?" Gibbs asked.

The frown lifted from Alicia's face and she suddenly stood up. "Yes! I have lots. Videos, too."

"Can we see them?"

"Of course. I'll be right back," she said, and then rushed out of the room.

Silence fell between McGee and Gibbs as they waited for her to return. After nearly ten years together, McGee knew he should be comfortable with the quiet by now. Gibbs didn't chat to pass the time. He didn't comment on the weather to fill the silence. The only time he did speak was when he really had something to say. Usually, McGee was comfortable with silence as well. That was until he was with Gibbs. For some reason, Gibbs' brand of silence made him nervous.

"Nice place," he heard himself say. Gibbs didn't respond, and McGee knew he wouldn't. But that didn't stop him from talking some more. "Reminds me of my dad's place. Maybe it's an admiral thing."

"You talk to him lately?" Gibbs asked, and McGee was so surprised that he almost jumped.

"Last week."

"He doin' all right?"

McGee shrugged. "Not exactly." He gave Gibbs a wry smile and explained. "Penny's staying with him."

The corner of Gibbs' mouth pulled back in a knowing smirk, and McGee allowed himself to smile wider. While there wasn't a whole lot of humor in his father being sick, there was _a lot_ in the uptight admiral being looked after by his bohemian mother.

They heard Alicia coming before they saw her. Her heels clacked and necklace jangled as she rushed back into the room with a laptop in her hands. Instead of returning to her previous seat she nudged past McGee and sat between him and Gibbs on the couch. She rested the laptop on the coffee table and hit a key to bring it back to life.

"I actually have hundreds of photos," Alicia said. "Even though it was only a few days. I get incredibly snap happy, you know?" She paused and smiled sadly. "Will always made fun of me for it."

McGee gave her a smile of understanding and looked at her laptop screen. Her desktop image was a photo of her and Will taken at their wedding. She'd been a beautiful bride, and the two of them looked almost giddy as they pressed their cheeks against each other to fit both of their faces in the frame. McGee felt a pang of sympathy for her.

Alicia navigated to a folder that McGee noted had 312 items in it, and then started flipping through them quickly. "I was taking so many that I was backing them up on the laptop every night," she told them. "But I haven't gotten around to sorting them yet. I haven't been able to."

McGee appreciated an organized hard drive. But he didn't think that would help them much on this case.

She stopped on a photo of herself and Will with a couple McGee recognized as their best suspects. "This is John and Sacha Paulson," Alicia told them, pointing at the laptop screen for emphasis. "It was taken on our first night."

"You met them pretty quickly," McGee commented.

"Almost as soon as we stepped on board," Alicia said. "We were standing together at the safety briefing." She flipped through a few more photos and then showed them one of Alicia and a blonde woman at a bar. "Erika North. She was traveling with her husband, Tomani."

McGee made a note in his notepad.

"This is Andrea and Justin. I can't remember their surnames."

McGee made another note, and another and another as Alicia went through about 20 photos of people she and Will had spent time with. As she spoke, McGee could feel Gibbs getting increasingly restless. Honestly, he was a little restless himself. He was beginning to fear that Alicia had made friends with _everyone_ on the ship. But when McGee had about two-dozen names on his list, Alicia stopped on one last photo of Will and the Paulsons. It was taken at a dinner table, and the three of them looked to be in more formal clothing.

"John and Sacha were super intense that night," Alicia told them, as if the memory was only just returning to her. "Me and Will were excited because we were getting dressed up for a formal dinner. We never do that. We'd arranged to sit with John and Sacha a few days before when we were getting to know them, but Will wanted to change plans that night because of whatever beef he had with them. It was too late, though, and when we arrived they were asking Will so many questions about our shore trip to Samaná."

"That was where you thought your husband witnessed some kind of crime?" McGee checked.

Alicia nodded slowly. "Yes. Will got sick the next night after we left San Juan."

"Was it just you and the Paulsons at the table that night?" Gibbs asked.

"No, there were two other couples," Alicia said. "Eliza and Tomani and, um…Julie and Martin something."

"Did the ship's security talk to them?"

Tears welled in Alicia's eyes and she shook her head. "No. They didn't talk to anyone, Agent Gibbs. They were completely convinced that he had food poisoning."

"The night he got sick," McGee started, "do you remember what he was drinking?"

Alicia frowned and tried to rub the memory into her head with her fingertips on her temples. "Cocktails. I can't remember what kind. Something the ship had on its menu."

"Did you see anyone messing with his food or drink? Waiters?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "But I wasn't paying attention, Agent McGee. I thought we were safe in the restaurant. I thought we were safe on the whole ship."

"You leave your drinks unattended at all?" Gibbs asked.

Alicia swung her head around to look at him. "I don't know. Maybe? I went to the bathroom once, but Will stayed at the table. I assume he was there the whole time but I never asked."

McGee thought it over. Every new piece of information they got on this case made the circumstances murkier, not clearer. It was going to be tough to crack. "Is there anyone else in the photos you'd like us to look at?"

Alicia sniffed back her tears. "No. That's pretty much everyone I'd consider important," she told him. "I mean, there were lots of other people we'd say hello to when we passed them every morning, but I don't know their names."

McGee nodded to reassure her she'd given them what they needed. "That's fine. This is very helpful."

"If you say so."

"Can we take copies of these?" he asked, and pulled a thumb drive from his pocket.

She shrugged and waved her hand at her laptop. "Yeah, I guess."

McGee plugged the drive into her laptop and started copying the folder. Then he had an idea. "Do you have a Facebook page?"

"Of course."

"Did you upload any of these photos?"

Alicia nodded slowly, and then faster as she caught on to where he was going. "Yeah. And I tagged a bunch of people."

McGee felt a flutter of relief. That would make tracking all these people easier. When the transfer of photos and videos was complete, McGee unplugged the drive and then gave Gibbs a nod to let him know they were done.

"Thank you for speaking with us again," Gibbs told Alicia. "We'll keep you informed of our progress."

Alicia regarded him with skeptical grey eyes. "You don't think Will was murdered. Do you?"

Gibbs wasn't one to lie. "I don't know what I believe yet," he told her. "We don't have all the evidence."

Her gaze didn't waver. "I'm not crazy, Agent Gibbs."

"I don't think you are," he replied evenly.

Alicia turned her gaze on McGee. "What do you think?"

McGee stuck the thumb drive in his pocket and turned what he hoped was an open and trustworthy expression on her. "I think that we owe it to your husband to get to the bottom of what happened. And we will."

…

For a voyeur like Tony DiNozzo, trawling through other peoples' photos when they weren't around should have been a whole lot of fun. And when faced with the backdrop of beaches, bars and bikini babes, the fun factor should have been bumped up considerably. But through Ken Klein's photos, Tony was finding out that the image of cruising he'd developed in his head over the last two days of hot girls lying by the pool and sipping cocktails was completely off base. Yes, there were a lot of photos of people in swimwear. There were a lot of cocktails in hand, and a lot of skin on display. But more often than not, the skin was burned and stretched over the paunch of men in their 50s and 60s. When Tony had joined Ziva and Borin in the conference room to go through Klein's photos on a more private plasma screen, he'd been expecting to see Hollywood glamour. The reality was, well, disappointing _reality_.

When it came down to it, most people looked a whole lot better with all of their clothes on.

"It literally makes no sense to me," he told Ziva and Borin as Borin flicked from another random crowd shot to the next. "My brain cannot comprehend how it is possible to be that pale and _not_ have all your organs showing through your skin."

Ziva sighed and rolled her eyes. "Some people are just pale, Tony! McGee would be the same in the dead of winter."

" _I'm_ the same in the dead of winter," Borin shot in, and then sucked some soda through her straw. "Actually, I'm still that pale at the height of summer."

Tony shook his head, refusing to believe it. "No, not like that," he said, gesturing at a cruise passenger in the foreground of the photo who almost blended into the white wall behind her. "You wouldn't glow in the dark like Casper."

"Casper didn't glow in the dark," Borin corrected. "But if you want to see me shine a light with my body in the dark, just turn off the lights and I'll show you."

"Lights stay on," Ziva insisted. "We need to get through this."

She brought up the next photo, and for a moment they all just stared and it and tried to work out what they were seeing. The main focus of the picture taken inside a cabin was Klein's wife, but in the foreground was a column of pinkish-white flesh that was obviously connected to Klein. They just couldn't work out _what_ body part they were looking at.

Tony was the first to find his voice. "Is that…?" he started before trailing off. Suddenly, he felt extremely inadequate.

"No, that would not be possible," Ziva said firmly.

"But if it is, it would go some way towards explaining how Klein landed a hot wife like that," Tony argued. He received twin looks of disgust in response.

"Looks are not always important to a woman, Tony," Ziva told him.

Tony scoffed. "Uh, yeah. They are. Women try to act all high and mighty and above the superficial, but in the end you're as bad as us."

"You get dates, don't you?" Borin drawled.

Tony gave her a bitchy smile in return.

"It is his _thigh!_ " Ziva suddenly exclaimed. "See? That is his knee, not the top of his—"

"Ohhh," Borin and Tony sing-songed together.

"I'm not as impressed now," Tony said.

"I'm not as horrified," Borin counted. "My friend used to date a guy she dubbed Baby Arm. Any kind of sex was almost impossible."

Ziva winced and crossed her legs, and flipped to the next photo as McGee walked in.

"Oh. You're all in here," he said.

"Do you glow in the dark?" Tony asked him.

McGee paused as he walked towards them and opened and closed his mouth a few times as he tried to frame a response. "Uh…what?"

"You know, because of your…" Tony gestured up and down McGee's frame. "Affliction."

"My what?"

"Tony," Ziva admonished, and sat forward in her chair as she looked at McGee. "Did you get photos from Alicia?"

McGee pulled the thumb drive out of his pocket and slid it across the table to her. "Just a few hundred. Plus videos."

"A few _hundred?_ " Borin echoed. "They were only on the cruise for a couple of days."

McGee shrugged. There wasn't much he could say to that. "I'm going to start looking at Facebook pages."

"McGee?" Ziva called. "Do you remember seeing a name on the passenger manifest that was something like Mike Rowe?"

"The Discovery guy?" Tony asked.

McGee tried not to roll his eyes at her. "Do I remember? No, I don't _remember_. But I can check."

"Klein said Paulson had a friend with him," Borin said.

"And his name is Mike Rowe?"

"Something like that."

"I'll start with Paulson's Facebook," he said, and left them with Alicia's photos to look through.

Ziva plugged the thumb drive into the computer attached to the plasma, and then opened the folder of Alicia's photos.

"Crap," Borin muttered when she saw them all.

"Perhaps we could get Abby to run some kind of program that pulls out repeat faces?" Ziva suggested.

"Sounds entirely sensible," Borin replied.

"Why's your Facebook blocked?" Tony suddenly asked.

Ziva and Borin looked over at him to find him looking down at the phone in his hand.

"Whose?" Ziva asked.

"Borin's," Tony said, and waved his phone at her. "What're you hiding?"

"All my personal information from people I don't know," Borin said obviously.

"I'm sending you a friend request," Tony said.

"Prepare to be denied," she replied.

Tony looked up at her, offended. "What? Why?"

"I don't want you in my business, DiNozzo."

Tony arched an eyebrow that was meant to remind her just how deeply into _his_ business she'd pushed herself the other night. "Oh. Would you consider that crossing the line?"

Borin pursed her lips over a smile, and then shrugged. "I guess not. But you should be warned. My life is very boring."

"You should see McGee's," he said. "It's all _blah blah_ computers, _blah blah_ books, _blah blah_ video games."

"Sounds like he has a lot of hobbies," Borin said.

"McGee has a very well-rounded life outside of work," Ziva told her.

Tony groaned and grabbed the clicker from Ziva's hand to go back to Klein's shots. They were almost done, and he had a list of recurring faces, including Jug Face, Green Bikini, Hitchcock in a Speedo, Tan Lines and Chronically Drunk Bro that he wanted to check out before the end of the day.

He clicked to the next photo, and all three of them gasped and covered their eyes against the image of a buck naked Ken Klein taking a selfie in the bathroom mirror.

"I called it!" Borin cried from behind her hand. "Ziva's my witness. I knew this was coming as soon as he started looking uncomfortable."

"I would congratulate you, but I had wished you were wrong," Ziva said. "Tony, next photo. _Please_."

Tony clicked to the next one, which was the same as the last but from another, less flattering angle. "WHY?" he cried and clicked to the next. It was the same. "WHY DOES HE DO IT?"

"For his wife?" Ziva said hopefully.

Tony clicked to the next photo, and he found it way too graphic for his sensibilities. He let out a disgusted, strangled cry and slid the clicker back to Ziva before pushing back from the table and standing up.

"I'm done," he announced. "Gonna help McGee." He practically ran to the door and then slammed it behind him.

Ziva looked at Borin and arched an eyebrow. "Who would have thought amateur pornography would break him so quickly?"

…

At 1750 that evening, Tony started preparing to leave. He had a semi-fruitful afternoon, digging through Facebook pages of a couple of the passengers who had appeared on the manifests for both the cruise that the Crawfords had taken and the one Ken Klein had been on. A lot of people had their pages set to private, so that was annoying. But for those people who had public profiles, Tony had taken copies of the cruise photos that had been posted. He didn't really know if it would help, but he reasoned that the more photos they had, the bigger picture they would have of what happened on the ship and who might've been behaving shiftily.

McGee had managed to find the 'Mike Rowe' that Ken Klein had been talking about. Martin Rose was on the passenger manifest for the most recent cruise on which Klein had been attacked, and a man by that name was friends with Paulson on Facebook. A top level dig into Rose's affairs showed that he, too, was a repeat cruiser. His Facebook profile suggested that he worked as a motorcycle mechanic, but photos of his home suggested he was taking home more than minimum wage. His name was added to the list of possible suspects with the others, but there wasn't much more they could do about it until they had some evidence that they were involved in Will Crawford's death. At this stage, there was nothing at all to link them. So Tony decided to deal with it by going home for the night and sleeping like the dead. It wasn't like the case was _active_. And anyway, it was Sunday. Sunday on what was supposed to be the team's weekend off. Leaving at 1800 was completely justifiable.

So, of course, that was when Ziva and Borin returned to the bullpen after their marathon slide night, and brought with them a bit of excited energy.

"I think we found something," Ziva announced as she joined the rest of the team in the bullpen.

"If it's pink and fleshy, I don't want to see it," Tony told her.

"What if it's pink and fluffy?" Borin asked.

Tony made a face. "Then I'd see a doctor as soon as possible."

Ziva sat at her desk and hit a few keys until a video came up on the plasma screen. "This is from Alicia," she told them as the whole team gathered around the television screen. "It was taken in Samaná where Alicia thought Ensign Crawford witnessed a crime."

The team watched the video of Alicia sitting at a table that looked to be almost right on the beach. The sky behind her was clear and a deep blue, palm trees swayed in a gentle breeze, the sand was bleached white and, from the angle they had, the water looked to be as blue/green and crystal clear as it looked in travel brochures. Unlike in Klein's photos, the people on the beach were skewed heavily in the tall, thin and beautiful direction, and everyone was tanned and smiling. _This_ was the kind of thing Tony expected from a cruise.

In the foreground, Alicia talked and laughed with the cameraman, assumed to be Will. She looked as happy and carefree as anyone would expect a young woman on vacation with her husband to be, with no idea that in 24 hours' time, she'd be a widow.

"What are we supposed to be looking at?" Gibbs asked.

"It's coming," Borin told him, and held her hand out a little way from her body as she prepared to point at the screen. "There!"

Ziva paused the tape, and Borin stepped forward to tap on the far left of the screen. Tony squinted at what she was pointing to.

"Is that a monkey?"

"Standing on a bicycle?" McGee added.

Ziva and Borin both looked at them like they couldn't be serious. Tony couldn't speak for McGee, but sadly, he _was_ serious.

"It is John Paulson," Ziva told them impatiently, and then used the clicker to zoom in on the area. "And he is with another man. Paulson is carrying what looks to be a large pink teddy bear, and his friend is carrying a brown one."

Now that she'd explained the image, Tony could see it perfectly. "Oh! The bike is the fancy fence thing behind them." He cuffed McGee on the arm, and McGee nodded.

"Okay, I can see it now," McGee said.

"Ken Klein said he saw Paulson and his friend buying stuffed bears in Samaná," Ziva told them, making sure everyone had caught up to why this video was important. "They took them off the ship in Key West, and when he re-boarded, he didn't have them."

"So, they buy lots of stuffed bears when they go to the Dominican Republic," McGee said.

"Does the Dominican Republic have a reputation for the quality of its stuffed animals?" Tony wondered.

"No," Borin told him. "But they have a reputation for their drugs."

"They stuff the bears with drugs and give them to children in Key West?" Tony deliberately misunderstood. "Well, that's plain evil."

Gibbs shot him a steely glare because he was too far away to land a slap to the back of his head. Tony mouthed an apology, and Gibbs returned his attention to the plasma screen. "Don't s'pose there's a shot of the store they come out of?"

"No," Ziva said dejectedly. "Klein said it was across the road from the beach, but…there are a lot of shops across the road from the beach."

"Do we know who that is with him?" Gibbs asked.

"Mike Rowe?" Borin tried.

"Oh, his name is Martin Rose," McGee told them. "And it's hard to tell on the video, but that guy is roughly the same height and weight as him. Me and Abby can work on getting a better shot of his face for comparison."

"Tomorrow," Gibbs said. "We'll pick up again tomorrow. Everyone head home. Have the night off."

With word coming down from on high, Tony didn't feel as guilty as he had done previously about wanting an early mark. Gibbs was clearly not feeling this case, and he probably wouldn't until they found some harder evidence. Until then, Tony would take advantage of the two more hours of sunlight outside.

Borin left quickly, saying she'd be in touch tomorrow. Gibbs followed her, and McGee took a few more minutes to pack up his desk and take off. Tony made a couple more notes about the Facebook pages he'd been looking at and bookmarked a few, and then stood up and clipped his badge and gun to his belt as he prepared to leave.

"Tony?"

He jumped and looked up at Ziva calling his name. He knew she was there in the bullpen. He just didn't know she was _right there_ in front of his desk. The frickin' ninja got him again.

"Agh-hi," he covered. "Didn't see you there."

She looked around herself as if trying to work out where 'there' was. "I did not mean to startle you."

"I wasn't startled," he lied.

She didn't look like she believed him, but didn't call him out on it. "Do you have plans?"

"Right now?" he asked, and then answered anyway. "Not really. You want to get a drink?"

"Or dinner?" she suggested.

He shrugged a yes and smiled. He could get down with a dinner not-date with Ziva right now. And maybe, if all the stars aligned and he prayed to the right god, they'd fit in another movie snuggle before bedtime. "I need to eat," he said agreeably.

Ziva's eyes flicked south to his stomach, and she gave him a coy little smirk that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "So, we will eat," she said, and then lead him out the door.

And he didn't know why, but Tony felt as if he'd agreed to more than just dinner.

* * *

So there's a little T/Z + bonus Borin fun for you. And yes, the next chapter will be heavy T/Z. Thanks for your patience.


	6. Chapter 6

**There are some references to things that happened in my story** _ **Rapture**_ **in this chapter, which is kind of the prequel to this story. So don't feel like you've missed a chapter of this one if you don't remember what Tony and Ziva are talking about. Also, this story is set a few years ago, hence the** _ **Les Miserables**_ **reference.**

* * *

Ziva took him to a Korean barbecue place a few blocks from her apartment that Tony remembered visiting once before. If he recalled correctly, this was the place they'd come last year only to be evacuated halfway through their meal when other diners cooking their own meat on the grill at their table had somehow started a fire. He couldn't attest to the meal being one of the better he'd ever had, but perhaps that wasn't fair. He'd only taken about three bites before people started screaming "FIRE!" and mayhem ensued. He was prepared to give it another chance.

He opened the door for Ziva, and as she passed him to enter the restaurant he whispered, "This time, we get a seat near the exit."

Ziva smirked, but then paused and then turned to face him. "We can sit outside," she offered, gesturing at the half dozen tables on the sidewalk. "It's a beautiful night."

It _was_ a beautiful night. In fact, it was downright balmy and the traffic on the street was fairly light so they wouldn't have to yell to be heard. He swung his arm out, gesturing back towards the sidewalk. "After you."

They settled at a table as far away from the only other outdoor diners as they could, with each of them positioned to face one end of the street. Not that they expected to be ambushed by drive-by shooters. But hey, they hadn't really expected that the last time they'd been in Colombia, either.

"Have you spoken to Monique lately?" he asked suddenly.

Ziva blinked at him in surprise. "No," she said slowly. "Not for months. Why?"

He waved his hand, dismissing the conversation as unimportant. "No reason. I was just thinking of Colombia."

Ziva's eyes darted around the immediate vicinity. "Did you see something?" she almost whispered.

"No, nothing," he said quickly, reassuring her. "Forget it."

She eyed him with suspicion for a moment, and then let the issue drop. "All right."

"Was she safe?"

"Monique?"

"Yeah, when you last talked to her."

Ziva nodded slowly, and he saw something in her eyes that made him think she was beginning to regret suggesting dinner. "She was, at the time," Ziva told him. "She was on her way to Panama."

"What's in Panama?"

Ziva shrugged. "I hear they have a very nice canal."

Tony responded her smart-ass reply with a smart-ass smile.

"I did not ask," Ziva told him.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair as he thought about a tropical climate and exotic beaches. "Everyone's traveling but me."

Ziva's lips turned upwards in a little smile. "We were just in Miami," she reminded him.

But Tony made a face. "One night in Miami in the middle of a huge storm, with no power, and babysitting a drunk that made even _my_ skin crawl doesn't count as traveling."

"I was not drunk!" Ziva protested, and then smiled to assure him she was joking.

Tony chuckled with the idea of comparing time spent with the reptilian Luis Zapata with a night in bed (platonically, of course) with Ziva. "You could have been fall down, vomiting drunk, Ziva, and it still would have been preferable to spending five minutes with Zapata."

Ziva flipped her hair over her shoulder. "I am a very pleasant drunk."

Tony scoffed, as she knew he would. Ziva rarely got drunk. Credit where it was due, about 80 per cent of the time when she _did_ drink, she was indeed pleasant and fun and funny. The remaining 20 per cent of the time, she got stubborn and argumentative and was a giant pain in the ass. Although he supposed the same could be said for most people.

"I'm just saying that a week lying in a beach would be nice."

Ziva made an agreeable face. "You need a vacation."

"We _all_ need a vacation," he replied.

"So ask for one," she said, and then added with a smile, "Before you shoot another car."

He sighed heavily. In a moment of utter frustration he'd fired one shot into the rear fender of a car that was blocking him and Ziva in to a parking space. The owner hadn't pressed charges (they suspected he probably had some open warrants he was looking to avoid), so technically Tony had gotten away with his massive lapse in judgment. But that didn't mean that the team would ever let him forget about it.

He looked at Ziva across the table. She looked a little too smug for his liking, and he supposed he could bring her down a few notches by explaining that he'd shot that car out of misplaced frustration over the state of their relationship (i.e. they didn't _have_ a 'relationship'), but he wasn't entirely sure if she was ready to hear that. He'd kissed her once, soon after they'd returned from that waterlogged trip to Miami. And Ziva had responded enthusiastically. But at the end of it, they had sort of agreed to just let the kiss tide them over for a while. The problem was, he didn't know how long 'a while' was supposed to be. He was sure as hell ready for another kiss. Another thousand kisses, actually. But Ziva? He couldn't read her on that one.

"Perhaps I should go on a cruise," he said, getting his mind back on topic. "But one where people don't die."

Ziva looked thoughtful. "I think I would go crazy after a few days being stuck on a boat."

"You'll never make Agent Afloat with that attitude," he lectured her.

Ziva looked back at him impassively. "I may be able to cope with that."

Tony raised his eyebrows in silent agreement. Agent Afloat had been the _worst_ job he'd ever done. "What's the longest you ever spent on a boat?"

"Two months," she told him. "I hated it."

Tony looked off down the street and thought about the case they had in their hands. "What do you think the chances are like that Alicia killed Will herself?"

"Slim," she replied. "He died four months ago. If she did it, she already got away with it. Why would she draw our attention to it now?"

Tony shrugged. "Guilt."

He watched her think it over, but in the end Ziva shook her head. "I do not think so, Tony. That does not feel right."

"No," he agreed. "She seems sincere. And those photos of the two of them together…" He trailed off as he tried to think of how to explain them without sounding scarily romantic.

"They were very much in love," Ziva said, drawing his gaze. "They looked at home together. Is that the saying? At home?"

Tony nodded slowly at her. "Yeah. At home. They were comfortable together. Clearly happy."

Ziva gave him another small, soft smile. "Mm," she agreed with a nod. "Unless something went terribly wrong between them, which is always a possibility, I think they were a very strong team."

Tony held her gaze, and he wondered if she was thinking what he was thinking. Who was a stronger team than the two of them? Who else had been to hell and back together, and got through it, stronger in the end? Who else could he sit with for hours in comfortable silence, or in easy conversation?

Okay, perhaps they weren't always comfortable. Perhaps they were prone to spending days at a time keeping each other at an awkward arm's length and avoiding too much eye contact. But Tony felt they only had those moments because they couldn't clear the air. More often than not they were paralyzed over talking to each other about what the real issue was, because they weren't supposed to acknowledge it when their feelings were hurt over something the other one did. They couldn't talk it out and reach a resolution because they weren't supposed to be upset or mad or hurt in the first place. They were _supposed_ to be co-workers and nothing more. But Tony thought—or at least hoped—that if they _were_ something more than co-workers, those days of being awkward and hurt would end when they were allowed the freedom to acknowledge how they felt. Or something.

"Yeah," he agreed softly. "You gotta have teamwork."

…

Half an hour later they were most of the way through their meals and nothing had caught fire. So far, so good.

"So, you and Borin are getting chummy now," he said. "Turning into BFF gal pals."

Ziva chewed on a piece of green pepper thoughtfully. "What is BFF?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Get your sorority girl on, will you?" he asked. "Best friends forever."

The thoughtful expression remained. "I have never been a sorority girl."

"We're getting off topic."

"What is the topic?"

"You and Borin," he reminded her. "Your friendship is blossoming like a beautiful flower."

Ziva chuckled. "We do not know each other that well. But I enjoy her company."

As she ate her bulgogi, Tony considered the pros and cons of that friendship. He thought Ziva and Borin made a good pair, and he could see similarities between them. But given Borin's interest in analyzing Ziva's relationship with _him_ , and the feelings he'd admitted to having for Ziva just the other night, he wasn't sure if having the two of them be so chummy was in his best interests right now. Yes, Ziva knew how he felt about her. But he still didn't want Borin blabbing about it.

As he continued to stare at her, Ziva began to look unnerved. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said with a shake of his head. "It's just nice to watch."

She looked at him like he was a freak. "Me eating?"

"No," he chuckled. "You getting along with Borin." He decided to try to look past his own interests.

Her eyes narrowed in a warning glare. "Because I do not usually get along with people?" she charged.

He answered without thinking. "Not with women." It sounded innocuous in his head, but he knew he'd said the wrong thing when Ziva's only response was to stare at him in silence for a full five seconds. He tried to backpedal quickly. "I mean—"

"What about Abby?" she challenged, setting her chopsticks down on the table. At least she wouldn't stab him with them.

"Yeah, no, you're great friends with Abby," he agreed.

"And Monique."

"So close you're like sisters."

"I was friends with Jenny."

"Definitely."

Ziva sat back in her chair, and Tony thought she might continue to argue or take offence. But the hard look on her face shifted to self-doubt as the fight left her face. "Do you think women don't like me?" she asked him. And she was _really_ asking him. She wanted his opinion. But Tony felt that being honest was fraught with danger.

Tony leaned over the table and took the time to carefully word his response. "No, I don't think that's the case. But I think that there would be a lot of women—not all women, but some—who would find it challenging to relate to you."

Ziva pursed her lips and Tony couldn't work out how she'd taken it until a smirk broke over her face. "Nicely handled, DiNozzo."

"I try."

She leaned forward again and resumed eating. "Borin is the same."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"She is easy for me to be friends with. And she is fun."

He pushed around the rice on his plate. "Did you have a nice trip out to see Klein?" he asked casually.

She looked at him curiously as she tried to work out what he was getting at. "Yes. But if you think I am a bad driver you should be a passenger with her."

Tony shook his head firmly. "She can't be worse than you."

"She is reckless," Ziva told him without a hint of self-awareness. "I may be fast, but I am always in control and know where every other car is. Borin does not."

He found that hard to comprehend. "Yeah, I don't buy it."

She glared but didn't fight him further on it.

"So what did you talk about?" he asked.

"When?"

"In the car."

Ziva shrugged, not understanding why it was important. "Klein. The naked photos that we correctly assumed were on his thumb drive."

"So…just work?"

She stared at him for a moment and then a smile slowly stretched across her face. "Do you want to know if we talked about you?" she purred.

"No," he lied quickly. "Just wondering what the girl talk is like between the two of you."

Ziva leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands. "Well, obviously it's all about matching our guns to our outfits and our handcuffs to our men."

He smiled, allowing her to make fun of him. He probably deserved it. "I didn't think Borin had a man to match them to," he replied.

Ziva paused, and he wondered (almost panicked, in fact) that she was going to point out that she didn't technically have a man herself. That'd be awkward. But she didn't. "Not right now. Curse of the job."

"Yeah. I guess." But it didn't have to be.

"She gave me some good advice," Ziva told him.

"About what?"

"Job, career."

He recalled Borin telling Ziva she'd have her on her team at the Coast Guard, and he was as unhappy with the idea tonight as he had been on Friday. He put his hand down on the table, halfway towards her. "You're not actually considering going to work with her, right?" he checked.

Ziva chuckled and closed her eyes as she shook her head. "No, of course not. I am very happy where I am."

He eyed her, but decided he believed her. "Okay," he said, and pulled his hand back again as he felt himself calm. "So, she gave you career advice."

Ziva nodded, and her eyes drifted over his shoulder. "And life advice."

"Interesting."

Her eyes drifted back to him and she watched him quietly for a few moments before she nodded gently. "Good life advice," she told him.

It seemed cryptic, and he would have loved to hear more. But he knew Ziva. She was unlikely to spill her secrets, particularly if she was pushed to. So he just smiled and hoped that Borin really did have Ziva's best interests at heart.

Because if she didn't, he'd _mess her up._

…

It was still early when their empty plates were cleared away. When the waiter offered them coffee Tony was inclined to accept. He was in the mood to linger and draw out the easy conversation for a while longer. But Ziva shook her head as she sent the waiter a polite smile.

"No, thank you."

Tony declined as well, and then lifted his eyebrows at Ziva, expecting her to call it a night.

"Do you want to come over and give me another lesson?" she asked with a smile. When they'd gotten back from that trip to Miami, Tony had bought her a second-hand guitar to help her complete the one and only item on her bucket list (that he may have actually come up with on her behalf). Since then he had only given her two lessons. It had given him a perverse sense of glee to find that she wasn't very good at it. Hell, she was good at every other damn thing she tried, so it was nice to know that she had some gaps in her talents. And it was nice to be able to actually teach her something she didn't know. It felt strangely intimate.

"Sure," he said. "But I don't have my guitar."

Ziva waved her hand as if this was trivial information. "We will work something out. Or we can watch the end of _Gentlemen Prefer Blondes_."

"You mean the middle and the end," he corrected. She'd fallen asleep the other night before Marilyn and Jane Russell had even made it to Paris.

She scrunched her nose at him for teasing her and leaned down to grab her bag. "Well, I have not been drinking tonight, so I will be able to stay awake."

After paying the bill, the two of them took off for Ziva's apartment on foot. They had walked a block in comfortable silence when Tony nudged her gently with his elbow.

"They were on a cruise."

"Hmm?"

"In _Gentlemen Prefer Blondes_ ," he said. "They were on a cruise. We're surrounded by cruises."

"Do you believe in omens?" she asked, looking up at him with a teasing smile. They had already been over this, he recalled. Ziva was open to things that she couldn't see or understand. Tony didn't buy into any of it.

"No," he told her. "And if my movie habits are suddenly going to be a harbinger of things to come, watch out for our next round of cases involving zombie wars, mob wars and singing prostitutes dying of tuberculosis."

Ziva nodded thoughtfully. "That sounds interesting." She said. "Did you finally see _Les Misérables_?"

"I hated it."

"I told you."

"I should have listened to you," he said with a nod. "But Wolverine and the Gladiator were in it. I had to."

"There was a distinct lack of chariot races and mutating…" she made a claw gesture with her hands, "knife things."

"It's done now," he said, and then muttered, "Oscar-schmoscar."

As she had done on Friday night, Ziva linked her hand into the crook of Tony's elbow, and then patted his arm with her free hand. "There is always next year," she tried to commiserate.

"I guess."

When they made it another block and Ziva's hand was still gripping the inside of his elbow, and she was still walking with her side right up against his, Tony started getting a funny feeling in his gut. And it wasn't the Korean barbecue refusing to settle. No, Ziva was up to something. The dinner invitation. Taking him someplace close to her apartment. Refusing coffee to get him to go to her apartment. Talking movies with him. Close-walking and lots of smiles. Oh yeah, she was up to something. And Tony didn't have a clue what it was.

As they got closer to her apartment, he wracked his brains to remember anything he might've done recently to deserve retaliation. Was it because he put gold glitter in her jacket pockets and desk drawer the other day? Because that was really just a prank on McGee that got out of hand. Was it because he ate her piece of biscotti that came with her coffee last week? That was hardly fair, because he'd been the one to go and buy her the coffee. It was a more like payment for his effort. Was it because he'd slept on the couch with her on Friday night and hadn't made any effort to move until he'd been forced to? His heart panged at that. He knew it was overstepping the barely visible line between them, but in the wake of the kiss and that vague agreement to see where things went he thought he might be able to get away with it. And it had been…nice. Really nice. Brutally physically uncomfortable at times, but overall it had left him all warm and fuzzy and in a really good mood, despite the back pain that had lingered. If she was about to lock him in her apartment and torture him for his sins, he just hoped that wasn't the sin he'd be punished for. Because it hadn't felt like a sin. It had felt normal. Comfortable. Right.

When they made it to her apartment Tony climbed the stairs behind her with trepidation. His gut was sending out major warning signals, but he couldn't work out if they were telling him to turn around and run for his life or just alerting him to the fact that something fishy was going on. Ziva was still smiling (and if he was not mistaken, she was also swinging her hips a bit as she climbed the stairs ahead of him), but she wasn't looking at him long enough to work out whether there was evil intent beneath her smile, or, as he thought he'd caught a glimpse of earlier, nerves. If they were just going to have a guitar lesson, there shouldn't be either look in her eyes. So what the hell was going on?

She opened the door to her apartment and stepped inside, and Tony paused at the threshold to quickly look around for…well, he wasn't sure what. Anything out of place. But everything looked normal, and when he didn't follow her immediately as she'd expected, Ziva looked at him with curiosity.

"What?" she asked, with her jacket caught halfway down her arms.

He gave her a quick smile and came inside. "Nothing. I was just…nothing."

Ziva's curiosity turned to suspicion. "You are giving me the creepy crawlies."

Tony almost laughed. He was giving _her_ the…creepy crawlies? "Heebie jeebies," he corrected. "It's not intentional."

For reasons he couldn't understand, Ziva's face fell into an expression approaching self-doubt, and she looked to the floor as she slid her jacket completely off. "You do not have to stay, Tony, if you have somewhere else to be."

"No, I don't," he replied. "I'm good here. Aren't you good here?"

Ziva's eyes slowly surveyed her kitchen as she framed her response. "Well, I live here, so I am…good."

"Good."

She gave him another weird look, which Tony countered with a cheery smile. He took off his jacket as a sign of faith that he was staying, and then followed Ziva from the hallway into the kitchen.

"Drink?" she offered.

"It's a school night."

She gave him another look. "Coffee? Water?"

"Water. Just water." He could hear himself sounding weirder and weirder with every response, but it was like he didn't have control over it. The anticipation of waiting for whatever the hell she was going to do to him was making his skin itchy and his adrenaline pump. Somehow, in the space of three blocks, he'd become stranger than her.

Ziva poured him a glass, and when he went to take it from her his hands got overly grabby and he ended up spilling half of it over their hands.

"Sorry!" he said quickly, and put the water down on the counter before grabbing some paper towels.

Ziva didn't move from where she was standing, but just watched him with wide, alarmed eyes. "Tony, _what_ is wrong all of a sudden?"

He walked over to take her wet hand and quickly dry it off. "Nothing! Everything's fine."

"You have become twitchy."

"I'm not twitchy." She gave him a look of utter disbelief, and Tony sighed and threw the paper towel in the trash. "You wanted me to come over," he stated.

She nodded impatiently. "Yes. That is why I _asked you_ to come over."

He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. "But you have something up your sleeve," he accused. "I'm here for a reason. Are you going to get payback for the glitter?"

For a few seconds Ziva stared at him in silence, clearly struggling to comprehend what he was talking about. "Glitter?"

"The prank I played—"

"Yes, I remember."

"Did you get me here tonight for payback?" he asked. He thought he put it to her carefully and with enough of a touch of humor that she could take it as a joke if she wanted to. But her expression fell again, making him feel instantly guilty for thinking she was out for blood. She leaned against the counter across from him and mirrored his position, and after a heavy sigh she put a pleasant smile on her face and shook her head.

"No payback, Tony," she said, although Tony didn't believe that she hadn't been about to tell him something and then changed her mind. "I just thought a movie or a guitar lesson might be fun."

Tony watched her as she crossed to the living room to turn on the entertainment system he'd long ago pestered her to buy, but he suspected she rarely used. She was clearly lying to him. He was a detective—a good one—and he'd known her for years. He knew when she was being dishonest. But he also knew that whatever she was being dishonest about right now wasn't likely to get either one of them killed. He knew Ziva to get a lot more defensive than this when the stakes were high. Whatever it was that was on her mind wouldn't cause harm, and he supposed she'd tell him when she was ready. Ziva didn't like to be pushed; he knew that from experience. So for the moment, he let her be.

"Yeah," he said finally. "Ladies' choice. As long as it's not _The Sound of Music_."

…

Ziva liked to think that she was a master of patience and calm. She had been practicing flatlining her emotions since she was a teenager, primarily to allow her to focus on taking the right course of action in a stressful or dangerous situation in order to preserve life. She had been training to lie still in on place for hours at a time, and how to filter out her flight and freeze responses so that all that was left in a situation was to fight. She could hold her nerve against anything or anyone…except, it appeared, against herself.

Tony had been right to be suspicious of her intentions that evening. She wasn't terribly surprised that he had realized something was going on. She hadn't exactly been trying to hide her plans, and Tony knew her tells better than anyone else. But when he flat out asked her what was going on and had given her the perfect opportunity to bring up the topic of _them_ , she had lost her nerve and lied. She couldn't tell him that she wanted to revisit their end-of-the-world kiss, and raise the possibility of some far more regular kissing and sex.

But at least she was fairly certain that her armor of calm was holding. And she _was_ calm. Mostly. Even if her heart rate elevated every time one of them moved and brushed against each other, because it seemed they were not even bothering to leave distance between them anymore as they lounged on the couch watching _Cinema Paradiso._

And that wasn't the only thing making her heart race.

Tony had started quoting the movie along with the dialogue, which would be exceptionally irritating were he not doing it in Italian. She had somehow forgotten that he was multi-lingual. Certainly he wasn't as multi-lingual as her, but she knew his Spanish was solid. Solid enough, in fact, to throw around sexual slang without a stutter, although it wouldn't surprise her if Anthony DiNozzo could do that in every language. His French was not great. He could order a sandwich, a coffee and hire a scooter, and he knew a flirty phrase or two. His Hebrew was improving slowly, and Ziva knew it was her fault that he only seemed to know the swear words. Sometimes she swore his English was patchy at best, although he always insisted that _she_ was the problem when she couldn't understand his left-of-field mutterings.

But she had forgotten all about his fluency _in Italiano._ And what a shame that was that he didn't use the language more frequently, because, God help her, it was a hell of a turn on.

She indulged in a small smile behind her hand as he recited another line of dialogue, and then almost jumped when he leaned in close to her.

"What are you smiling at?" he whispered.

Ziva hadn't been aware that he'd been paying attention to her as he played along with the movie. She looked at him and found him smirking and almost close enough to kiss. Her heart started pounding again, but she played coy, just for fun.

"Nothing," she told him, shaking her head. "Just…thoughts."

"Thoughts?" he repeated, popping an eyebrow. "Do tell, Ms David."

A million butterflies started fluttering in her belly, and she was almost positive she could feel his fingers on her thigh. She enjoyed the feeling immensely, and so she allowed herself to bait him. "I had forgotten that you speak Italian," she said, and nudged him a little with her shoulder.

Tony took the hook, just as she suspected he would. "I _am_ Italian," he reminded her, leaning back just a little bit. "Of course I speak it."

She almost rolled her eyes, and teased him gently. "You are an American with Italian heritage."

"Well—"

"And you were born in Long Island," she added.

"Yes."

She couldn't help adding _more_. "And your father was born in New York City, and your mother was born in Cambridge, England."

He held up a finger that just moments ago had strayed to her knee. "But my dad's parents…"

"Were also born in New York City."

"To Italian immigrants," he finished, as if the information made his point for him.

"Mhmm."

He eyed her with what she supposed was suspicion, but the look just made her skin prickle in a very favorable manner. "You know too much about my genealogy," he accused her.

Ziva thought he might be right about that. Once upon a time, back before she had ever met him in person, she had prepared a background file on him. But she was hardly going to bring that up now "Who knows? The information may be useful to me one day."

He thought about that for a moment, blinking slowly at her under the dim living room lights and making her skin prickle even more. But then he frowned almost comically and rejected her suggestion.

"In what circumstances could it possibly be useful for you to know where your partner's great grandmother Milia was born, _Ziva?_ "

"I am not sure," she said dismissively. "But it is good to be prepared for such a circumstance."

"You're such a good little girl scout."

"No, I was a good Mossad operative," she corrected, swaying towards the truth.

Tony nodded his head from side to side, accepting that. "Anyway, of course I speak Italian," he said, getting back on track. "I'm practically a native."

Their back-and-forth banter gave her a pleasant rush, so she continued to press the point. She knew he liked their 'arguments' as much as she did. "You have a distant background," she stated. "Just as McGee has distant Scottish background. But it is not assumed that he speaks Scottish Gaelic."

"Have you asked him?"

The question threw her, and she realized that he has a point. "Well, no…"

Tony's eyes got that twinkle he always got when he scored a point off her. "So, how do you know?"

Ziva shifted slightly in his direction, causing her bent knee to overlap his thigh, and abandoned the McGee argument. "Abby also has Italian heritage," she pointed out. "And she does _not_ speak Italian."

"Have you asked _her?_ "

"Yes," she said quickly, raising her chin in challenge. "And she thought is was ridiculous that I would think she speaks the language just because she has Italian relatives."

Tony smirked again in the face of her evidence. It hadn't thrown him. "But you just pointed out that my mother is from England. And the first time we met, you assumed I spoke English."

Ziva tried not to, but she couldn't help smiling at him. And concede his point. "Yes, Tony," she drawled, and leaned in a little more again. "You are right. That is _exactly_ why I assumed you spoke English."

He let go of a full-wattage DiNozzo smile. "So it follows that I also speak Italian," he led.

Ziva rolled her eyes. "I am not disputing that you speak—" She cut herself off when she realized that he had gotten more of a rise out of her than she had out of him. He'd stolen this round from beneath her feet when she thought she was taking it from him. Typical DiNozzo. "Okay, this is a stupid conversation," she said, and got to her feet. "Are you sure you do not want a drink?"

" _Si, bella,_ " he said, and then continued the Italian as she headed for the kitchen. " _You're so cute when you get frustrated with me_."

The butterflies in her stomach went wild again, and with her back to him she allowed herself to smile. "Shut up, Tony," she replied, but her tone was entirely light.

Tony switched back to English. "It sounds less offensive when I say it that way, huh?"

"No," she argued. But her body's physical reaction to it told her she agreed with him.

In the kitchen she poured herself a glass of water and let go of a full smile. She really did enjoy his company, which she supposed was a good thing, given that she spent so much time with him and was keen to spend much, much more with him in the future. She wondered again how she could have let herself back out of her plans tonight to move things along between them, and considered going back out there and starting the conversation now. No time like the present.

"Hey."

She pushed her hair back behind her ear as she turned to face Tony. He was standing in the entrance to her kitchen and wearing his jacket that he hadn't been wearing before. Ziva kept her smile in place, but felt disappointment fall like a led weight in her stomach. He was leaving.

"Don't take this as a comment on the company, but it's pretty late," he said. "I had my heart set on getting a full six hours tonight."

Ziva put her glass down and stepped towards him. "Six hours?" she repeated. "So lazy."

He grinned again and quickly looked her up and down. "Thanks for dinner. I'm glad nothing caught fire this time."

She smiled and followed him to the door. "Thank you for the company," she said.

Tony switched back to Italian again. " _The pleasure was all mine, bella._ "

"Are you going to keep doing that?" she asked. She tried to sound annoyed, but there was just a little piece of her that hoped that he would.

And for the moment, he did. " _Don't pretend that you don't like it,_ " he went on.

"And why do you do it if you think I like it?" she asked, allowing herself to slink just a little bit as she walked up to him. "Are you trying to make me like you?"

"You already like me," Tony said, switching back to English as his eyes did another quick pass over her body.

"Not very much," she sniffed, knowing he wouldn't take her seriously.

With one hand on the doorknob, Tony cocked his head and lifted one corner of his mouth. "I do it because it makes your lips do a thing."

Ziva blinked. She hadn't expected that. "They do not do a thing."

"And your nose scrunches," he went on.

Ziva shook her head once. "My nose never scrunches."

"It's very cute," he told her.

Ziva crossed her arms, rejecting that outright. "I am not cute."

"You're sort of cute."

"I could kill you with a spatula. Is that cute?"

Tony chuckled. "No. That's an empty threat."

"Only because Gibbs would kill me," she muttered.

He looked about as worried about that as he needed to be. "All right, then."

"You do not believe me."

"That you would kill me with a spatula?" He shook his head. "No. I don't."

"I am losing my edge," she mused.

Tony reached out to squeeze her hand and run his thumb along her palm. "No. You're just edgy enough." He let go of her hand, turned and opened the door. Ziva's chest still stung with disappointment, and on impulse she stepped after him and touched his hand.

"Tony," she said, and as soon as he turned around again she moved in and lifted herself onto her tiptoes to kiss him. Her momentum carried them backwards until his back hit the doorframe, and Tony groaned into her mouth. She worried that she'd hurt him and started to pull back, but Tony's hand wrapped around the back of her neck to hold her firmly in place. The kiss exploded in seconds flat, and she couldn't hold back her moan when his hand tunneled up into her hair and his tongue invaded her mouth. It was a direct hit to the pleasure centre of her brain, and she gripped at his hip to pull him as close to her as possible. Her skin caught fire and her heart raced, and every single sensitive part of her started to throb.

Forget their last kiss. _This_ was an end-of-the-world kiss.

As good as it was, Ziva knew he wasn't going to stay the night. She enjoyed the hell out of the kiss while it lasted, and when they finally broke apart and panted against each other, she let go of a wide smile that she didn't care that he saw.

"So," she said with unintentional huskiness. "I thought the last one was too long ago. I wanted to make sure the interest remains."

Tony breathed out a laugh against her chin and briefly tightened his grip on her hip. "Oh yeah," he said breathlessly. "It's there."

"Good." She pressed her hand to his heated cheek and drew it down to his neck. " _Buona notte, Antonio_."

" _Laila tov,_ " he returned, and then kissed her cheek and gave her a big smile before slipping out the door.

Ziva closed it behind him and turned the locks, and then leaned back against the door and smiled as she pressed her hand to her racing heart. So, she hadn't followed through on her full plan for the evening. But she'd make a start on it, had enjoyed every second of it, and knew for sure that Tony was still very, _very_ keen.

The best was definitely yet to come. And Ziva couldn't wait.

* * *

 **Okay, okay! You're sick of the case, I hear you (even those of you who say you're interested in the case). So I hope that chapter gave you some smiles.**

 **I realized it's only a few weeks until the finale and Weatherpants is gone forever, and I assume most of you will be too. So I'll start posting more frequently so we can all get out of this sooner rather than later :)**


	7. Chapter 7

To Ziva's surprise, Tony was already sitting at his desk when she arrived at work the next morning. It was unusual for him to beat her in, and she had to check her watch to make sure _she_ wasn't late. But no, she was on time. And yet, there was Tony, joking with McGee like it was any other morning.

"Morning, Ziva," McGee called to her as she came around the partition to her desk.

"Good morning, McGee," she returned. "You are here early." _You are_ both _here early_ , she thought.

"Me and Abby wanted to get a start on running all of Klein's and Alicia's photos through a program to check for repeat faces," he told her.

Ziva dumped her jacket and bag and walked over to his desk. She took position behind his left shoulder and looked down at his computer screen. "Did you find anything?"

"Uh, so far? About 53 matches."

"What?" Tony asked from behind Ziva's shoulder. She hadn't noticed him move from his desk, and jumped in surprise. "That seems like a lot."

"Well, yes and no," McGee replied as Ziva suddenly became very hot down the left side of her body near where Tony stood. "A lot of them are cruise crew, which you'd expect. They're often on eight or nine month contracts. But plenty are likely to be the repeat cruisers whose names we found on the passenger manifests."

"Do these people not have jobs?" Ziva wanted to know.

" _Au contraire_ ," Tony said near her ear, sending tingles down her neck, though her chest and right into her pants. "They have very high paying jobs. Or they're retired. Or they're criminals."

Ziva made a _pft_ noise. "I would like to go on two vacations a year," she grumbled.

"No, you wouldn't," Tony countered. "You'd get bored."

Ziva allowed that he was probably right. She looked over her shoulder at him to find his face very close. But was he standing closer than he normally did? It was hard for her to tell. "One, then," she revised, continuing with the conversation as she normally would even as her heartbeat started racing.

Tony's eyes flicked to her mouth as he nodded. "One'd be good."

"Japan," McGee said, drawing his colleagues' gazes. "I've wanted to go there for years."

"You should go," Ziva told him. "When was the last time you went on vacation?"

"I don't remember."

"I've always suspected that you were into Harajuku style."

McGee leaned forward to look around Ziva and frown at Tony. "Shut up."

Ziva nudged McGee's shoulder. "You should put a request in. Make sure it happens."

McGee looked vaguely suspicious. "Why do you want me to go so much?"

"It is not that I want you gone," she said. "It is that I care for you and want you to be relaxed and happy."

McGee narrowed his eyes. "What's going on with you today?"

Ziva felt her eyes widen, and she took half a step backwards as she worried that she was giving her extra-curricular activities with Tony away. But stepping backwards just made her bump into Tony, and she quickly bounced off him and stepped to the side so that she no longer felt sandwiched between them.

"What? Nothing," she said. "Nothing is going on."

McGee looked at Tony, and Ziva wondered if McGee had caught on. But Tony just gave McGee an easy shrug, and McGee dropped it.

"Okay. Maybe I will put in for some vacation time."

"No vacation until we know for sure what happened to Will Crawford," Gibbs said as he arrived for the morning. He paused in between his desk and McGee's, and gave the three of them a curious look. "What are you all doing here so early?"

"Work," McGee said.

"I am usually here at this time," said Ziva.

Tony just gave another easy shrug. "Woke up early."

Gibbs eyed them as if he was expecting them to break and confess to some prank they were trying to pull, or some screw up they were responsible for and trying to fix. But they had all told him the truth, so his glare was completely ineffective. He continued to his desk.

"What work are you doing exactly, McGee?" he asked.

"Cross-checking Klein's photos with Alicia's," McGee told him. "John and Sacha Paulson appear in both sets, which isn't surprising. But I also found Martin Rose in both sets of photos. And another woman who appears with them a lot. I think she's Martin's wife, Julie."

"She was tagged in Alicia's Facebook photos," Tony told them.

Ziva leaned back against the shelf behind McGee's desk and tried to sort the information into order. "So, John and Sacha Paulson and Martin and Julie Rose were all on Alicia and Will's trip _and_ Ken Klein's trip?"

McGee nodded. "Yes. And the Paulsons and the Roses all appear in photos together. They're friends."

"Friends who cruise together," Gibbs said. "Not necessarily anything else."

"The Paulsons are supposed to be on another cruise leaving at the end of this week, right?" Tony said. "Are the Roses and the Norths supposed to be on it too?"

"Why don't you check, DiNozzo?" Gibbs suggested.

Tony pointed at his computer before stepping over to it. "I'm just going to check on that now, boss."

"I will do a quick background search on them," Ziva said, and headed back to her desk. "See if any of them have criminal records."

In the midst of the fresh flurry of activity, Borin walked in.

"Morning all."

Tony glanced up and gave Borin a vague salute. "Good morning, Agent Borin, and welcome to NCIS."

Borin slowed and then stopped by Tony's desk. She looked puzzled by his greeting. "What happened to you?" she asked.

Tony looked up again. "When?"

"Between last night and this morning."

Ziva watched him begin to put on a thoughtful act, but looked away quickly so that she wouldn't put him off.

"Um, I got a few hours older," Tony told Borin.

"Ohhh," Borin replied, playing along. "That must be what it is. You've reached maturity overnight."

Tony pretended to consider that. "No, I wouldn't go that far. But I'm edging closer."

"Congratulations," Borin said with faux sincerity, which Tony returned.

" _Grazie_."

Ziva looked up again just as Borin looked her way and shot her a look that said she thought Tony was crazy. Ziva nodded and shrugged, even as her Italian-inspired tingles returned, but Gibbs interrupted before Borin could take things any further.

"What have you got, Borin?"

Borin held up the iPad in her hand. "I did some more investigating this morning."

"I love it when investigators investigate," Tony said.

Borin smirked at him. "Did you have corn syrup for breakfast or something?"

"Probably."

Borin shook her head to herself and handed the iPad to McGee. "There are some video files on that. Can you get them to come up on your thingamajig?" She gestured at the plasma.

"That's a television," Tony told her helpfully.

Borin ignored him and addressed Gibbs. "Last night I put in a request for the security footage of the pier in Key West where the Caribbean Carnivalé pulls up. I got tapes of it docking during Ken Klein's cruise, and during the Crawfords'."

Ziva got up and walked over to the plasma screen. "Key West is where Ken Klein said Paulson disembarked with the stuffed bears, and came back without them."

Borin nodded. "Right. It doesn't look like anyone looked into that during the initial investigation, because it didn't seem important. But I checked this morning."

McGee got the first video file up, and they watched a swarm of people spill off the cruise ship and onto the dock.

"Paulson and his buddy, Martin Rose, make an appearance about two minutes in."

McGee fast-forwarded the tape two minutes, and then they all watched the group of travelers carefully. Borin jumped forward and pointed at the screen.

"There they are."

McGee paused the tape, and the others moved closer to squint at the black and white image of two men carrying large stuffed bears off the ship.

"You sure that's Paulson?" Gibbs asked, squinting harder.

"Yes," Ziva and Borin said together, decisively.

Gibbs looked at them, annoyed by how sure they were when he couldn't quite make it out. When they didn't waver, he looked past them to McGee. "Send that to Abby to confirm."

McGee wisely held onto his smirk. "Of course, boss."

Borin shared a look with Ziva, and then addressed McGee. "The next file shows them getting back on board without the toys."

McGee pulled that one up, and sure enough, Paulson and Rose returned to the ship just before 1600, _sans_ bears.

"Maybe they take part in some kind of toys for toddlers program," Tony suggested from his desk.

Borin looked over her shoulder at him with a frown. "How the hell did you manage to become an investigator with such a level head?" she asked.

Tony shrugged like it was obvious. "Good looks and charm."

"You have footage from the Crawfords' cruise?" Gibbs cut in.

Borin nodded and gestured to McGee to put it up. He played both files, and they were the same as before. Paulson and Rose disembarked with stuffed bears, and returned to the ship without them.

Borin turned her back to the screen and regarded the team. "So. Those were the two days the teddy bears had their picnics. And I'd guess that they have a picnic every time Paulson and Rose cruise."

Ziva frowned. "What picnic?"

"It's a children's song," Tony told her.

"Oh."

"Who's having a picnic?" Abby asked, joining them from Gibbs and McGee's end of the bullpen. "I want to come. We never got around to playing Twister that time because of that huge blackout, but we still need to have a tournament. When are we doing it?"

"You were going to have a Twister tournament?" Borin asked.

Abby bobbed her head excitedly. "Yeah. And the loser has to spill all their secrets."

"Not _all_ their secrets," McGee argued. "Just one."

"How many secrets do you have, you Pretty Little Liar?" Tony asked.

McGee shrank into his seat. "Not many. Not as many as you."

Gibbs sighed heavily and returned to his seat, but the others didn't pay too much attention to his silent protest over the tangent they'd gone off on.

"I'm an open book," Tony told him.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Borin smirked.

"It's true," Tony insisted. "Everyone already knows about the time I mistakenly made out with a transvestite."

Borin's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't."

"You don't count," he told her.

"Thank you," she deadpanned.

"Hey!" Gibbs cut in, raising his voice and silencing them all. He waited until he was sure they were under control, and then looked at Abby. "Do you have something?"

Abby winced an apology at him and then looked at McGee. "I just sent you a file."

McGee pulled up the video file Abby had emailed him and put it on the big screen. As it played, Abby talked them through it.

"So, this is video from Alicia Crawford. I've been trawling through her files all morning, looking for any familiar faces from either of the cruises, but particularly Paulson, his wife or this Martin Rose guy. And I found this."

The video was of Will Crawford by one of the pools on the ship, with his sunglasses on, his shirt off and a big smile on his face. There was a lot of activity going on behind him; people swimming, people splashing, people lying on sun lounges and drinking. They all looked like they were having a great time, but the team couldn't hear anything going on.

"Can you turn the sound up?" Borin asked.

"I removed it," Abby said with a swipe of her hand. "It was putting me off."

"Okay," Gibbs said slowly. "So, what are we looking for?"

"Paulson and Rose are standing near that bar with the thatched roof," Abby said. "Well, it's not actually thatched. It's synthetic, but made to look like it's thatched. I guess because it'd last longer against the elements—"

"Abby."

"Right. Sorry. Paulson and Rose are there," she repeated. "And they're eyeballing Ensign Crawford."

"I guess," Borin said.

"They're not happy with him."

Borin arched an eyebrow. "How can you tell that? They just look like they're having a conversation."

"I grew up with two deaf parents," Abby told her. "I've been lip-reading since I was talking."

"Oh. That's useful information to have," Borin said, and shot a nervous look at Ziva.

"Can you tell what they're saying?" Gibbs asked.

" _Boss won't like an investigation,_ " Abby said, putting on a deep, gruff voice. "That's Rose who says that. And then Paulson says something back to him, but I can't work out what. He's standing at a weird angle. But then Rose says, _We'll give him something tonight. Keep him down and out 'till after Key West_."

"Give him something?" Tony repeated. "Sounds kind of ominous."

Abby turned wide eyes on him as he misunderstood. "Oh, no. He didn't say _something_. I said _something_."

Tony made a face. "Huh?"

" _I'm_ saying _something_ ," Abby repeated, stabbing herself in the chest. "I can't work out what he's saying when I say _something_ , so I'm just saying _something_."

Tony stared at her a little longer, not comprehending. Then he looked to Ziva for a translation.

"I think she means that the _something_ could be anything."

"Exactly," Abby said.

Tony's frown deepened. "I'm missing something."

Abby stamped her foot, frustrated. "Tony!"

"I don't get it!"

Ziva sighed, getting as frustrated as the other two. "Tony, she understands every word he is saying, _except_ the one he says when she substitutes the word _something_."

His face showed that he finally understood. "Ohhhhh!"

"Agent Gibbs?"

They all stopped talking and looked up at Vance standing on the landing above Tony's desk. He had a small, bemused smile on his face, and it appeared he wasn't going to give them a lecture about appropriate workplace behaviors.

"Can I see you and Agent Borin in my office? Please."

Gibbs and Borin walked past the rest of the team and started up the stairs after Vance. As they got to the landing, Tony hit a couple of keys on his keyboard and then spun around and called up to Gibbs.

"Hey, boss? Just confirmed it. The Roses and the Norths are both booked on the same cruise as the Paulsons at the end of this week."

Gibbs took the information with a sigh and a nod, and the others stayed quiet until they were out of sight.

"So," Abby started as she looked around at the others. "Just so I'm clear, are we having a picnic or not?"

…

Vance was sitting behind his desk when Gibbs and Borin walked into his office. He gestured for them to take a seat, and while it was always Gibbs' preference to stand (sitting suggested you were consenting to a long meeting, and Gibbs most certainly never was) Borin sat and Gibbs had to follow. He already hated this meeting.

"So. The Ensign Crawford case," Vance began. "I see you buzzing with activity down there. Our Coast Guard friends have joined us. What's the word, Gibbs?"

" _Circumstantial_ ," Gibbs answered.

"How so?"

"We don't have anything concrete saying murder, yet."

"I see." Vance clasped his hands and leaned forward. "What _do_ we have?"

"A medical report from the hospital in St Croix that suggests some kind of poisoning occurred," Gibbs started. "But they didn't test the blood they drew from Ensign Crawford. Ducky'll get a sample delivered tonight."

"Mhmm."

"We also have Ken Klein, who wasn't on the same cruise as the Crawfords, but who says he was beaten up by the man Alicia Crawford suspects is responsible for her husband's death on a different cruise," Borin said.

"A man named John Paulson, who Will Crawford warned his wife about after he witnessed some kind of crime in Samaná," Gibbs continued.

"We have Paulson and his cruising buddy Martin Rose buying stuffed teddy bears in Samaná," Borin said. "And video of them taking the bears off the ship in Key West and returning without them. That occurred both on the cruise the Crawfords were on, and the one that Ken Klein was on."

Vance frowned deeply. "And what do teddy bears have to do with anything?"

"The agent who worked the assault of Ken Klein developed a theory that the bears were being used to smuggle something from the Dominican Republic into Miami," Borin said. "Paulson, Rose and their wives are going on a couple of cruises every year. Security on cruise ships can be fairly lax. Although passengers are screened when they're embarking from each port, a careful passenger could potentially move things from island to island. Especially if they have one of the ship's employees helping them."

Vance's eyes slid over to Gibbs to gauge his reaction, but Borin kept talking.

"Their chances of getting caught would be low," she said. "And even if they are caught the cruise lines do their own investigations and will do whatever they can to kill bad press. They have to report crimes and investigations of alleged crimes on ships embarking or disembarking in the US to the FBI and Coast Guard by law, but cruise ship crimes are very difficult to prosecute, so they're rarely investigated properly."

"What do you think they're smuggling?" Vance asked.

"Based on locations alone?" Borin said. "Cocaine. It'd be a lucrative business, and Paulson is living well beyond his means. He's a toy maker and his wife is a pharmaceutical drugs rep, but they live in a great big expensive house, drive nice cars and travel overseas first class every couple of months."

"So you think the crime Ensign Crawford witnessed was related to smuggling drugs?" Vance asked, trying to connect the dots.

"That's the theory."

"But there's no proof," Gibbs pointed out.

Borin eyed him with a touch of frustration, and then went back to Vance. "Abby has video of Paulson and Rose making what could be construed as threats against Crawford."

Vance looked a little more interested. "Could be construed?" he repeated.

Gibbs shrugged. "Could be."

Vance deflated again. "So, in a word, _circumstantial_."

Gibbs gave him half a nod in response.

Vance sighed. "Well, I've got an admiral up my butt about this, so keep digging. Keep me posted."

Gibbs started to get up, but Borin wasn't done yet.

"I have another idea," she said.

Gibbs froze in his seat and slowly looked over at Borin. He didn't like it when his team—and that extended to Borin right now—sprang surprises on him. And his gut told him he wouldn't like what she had to say.

But Vance was all ears. "What is it, Agent Borin?"

Borin glanced at Gibbs with a touch of apology before addressing Vance. "The Paulsons and their cruising buddies, the Roses, are booked on another cruise that leaves at the end of this week. It is taking the same route through the Caribbean that they always take."

Gibbs saw where she was going, and shook his head firmly. "No."

"I think we should put agents on the cruise to pay close attention to what they're all up to," Borin went on, ignoring Gibbs' protest. "We won't get the cooperation of the cruise line to conduct an investigation, but two agents on vacation who just happen to stumble upon what's going on? Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Vance looked between them and suddenly looked like he was on the verge of bursting into laughter. "Which two agents? _You two?_ "

Gibbs closed his eyes against the utter pain of the suggestion, and Borin caught him in it.

"Hey, thanks, Gibbs," she drawled. "Your team is really bad at making me feel welcome, you know that?"

Gibbs just sighed and rubbed his temples.

"I think we'd need an agent who is a more natural fit with Borin," Vance told Gibbs diplomatically.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said obviously, and then shot what was meant to be a steely look at Borin. "You're just going to assign members of _my_ team?"

The look had absolutely no effect on her. "Suggesting, not assigning," she replied in a soothing tone that was meant to make fun of him.

To Gibbs' dismay, Vance didn't reject the idea outright.

"Can you do it without killing each other?" Vance asked him.

"We'll have to confiscate Borin's weapons," Gibbs shot in. He thought he made it clear by his tone that he considered the idea to be stupid, but Borin either didn't hear it or didn't agree. His money was on the latter.

"Gibbs, if I want to kill him I'll just use a cocktail umbrella," Borin returned.

Vance looked to Gibbs again, and the two of them sat in silence for a few moments. Gibbs knew Vance wanted him to cave in, but he didn't want to. There was literally no evidence that Will Crawford had been murdered, no evidence that Paulson was involved, and no real evidence that Paulson or any of his friends were doing anything wrong. Sending Tony off for a paid vacation to 'keep an eye on Paulson' was, as far as Gibbs was concerned, a waste of time and money. But Vance continued to watch him and wait in silence, and Gibbs knew that his protest would be wasted. He sighed heavily, signaling that he was giving in, and Vance sat back in his chair.

"It's a long time for you both to be gone," Gibbs told him, although his tone was now one of resignation that it was going to happen, rather than an argument against the idea.

"How long are we talking?" Vance asked. "Three days?"

"Eight," Gibbs told him, and then enjoyed the look of disbelief that came over Vance's face.

"What?!" he almost yelled, and looked over to Borin as though she'd talked him into this without giving him all the facts. "How much is that going to cost my agency?"

Borin shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "I don't know. But if we catch a killer, won't it be worth it? And the Coast Guard would probably chip in."

Her argument didn't fly. " _How much?_ " Vance demanded to know.

"Fifteen grand, if they travel in the same class as the Paulsons," Gibbs told him, really beginning to enjoy the parade of anger, frustration and disbelief across Vance's face. "At least."

Vance stared at Borin, and Gibbs wondered if he was working his way through a stroke. Borin turned to look at Gibbs, and her eyes questioned whether this was normal. Gibbs smirked and looked away. He was determined to enjoy this painful moment.

"But much less if we don't," Borin threw in carefully. "There's got to be a couple of price points, right? Besides, how much do some of those tests Abby routinely runs for you on other cases cost? They're not cheap."

Vance drew a deep, calming breath, and eventually regained his power of speech. "Gibbs?"

"Yes, Director?"

"Your honest take on this?"

Instead of dismissing it completely, Gibbs gave it a few more moments' thought. "Chances are good Paulson's up to something," he allowed. "We might not catch a killer, but we could catch a drug smuggler. Or we might not catch either."

Vance's eyes went Heavenward, and Gibbs imagined he was saying a prayer to be saved before he leveled his gaze again. "I've had a call from Admiral Kirk already this morning," he told them.

Gibbs sighed and leaned forward. "Okay, how about this? If Ducky tests Crawford's blood and finds traces of poison, we send Tweedledum and Tweedledee to sea to watch Paulson. If the tox screen comes back clear, they stay on shore and we close this case with apologies to the Admiral."

Vance nodded firmly. "Agreed. Borin, take DiNozzo and start preparing for undercover. Build a background together. Agent David and Ms Sciuto will be good resources to help you. But remember we might have to pull the pin on this fast."

"Yes, sir," Borin said, and got to her feet with Gibbs.

"And I'm telling you both now," Vance went on as they headed for the door, "if we're sending people on a cruise for eight days at the Government's expense, you better come back with someone in custody some damn crime. I don't care who or which one."

Gibbs smirked as Borin nodded like it was no big deal. "Understood, Director."

…

It had been a while since Ducky had so many live visitors in his lab so close to midnight. As he worked at his desk on Ensign Crawford's blood sample, Gibbs leaned back against the back freezer wall. Agent Borin sat in a chair just out of Ducky's field of vision, picking at her nails and occasionally checking her phone to return messages. Tony sat on the nearest autopsy slab and played Tetris on his cell phone. No one made any sound, but all the same Ducky could hear them yelling at him to hurry up and come to a conclusion. But Ducky wouldn't be rushed. Rushing led to mistakes, and mistakes were unacceptable in his field. So he took his time, made sure he completed every step correctly, and, when he was done, he sent the results of the tox screen to the printer.

The sound of machinery whirring to life made the rest of the people in the room jump. Ducky rose from his chair and ambled over to the printer, took the results and then read them as he turned to face the others. As far as Ducky was concerned, the findings were conclusive and they had their answer.

He looked up at the others. Gibbs had rejoined them near the front of the room, Borin had left her chair, and Tony's phone hung in his hand between his knees. He sent them a satisfied smile, and then looked between Tony and Borin.

"Be sure to bring me back some rum from your travels, won't you?" he said.

"What have you got, Duck?" Gibbs asked.

"Isopropyl alcohol," He announced. "Trace amounts, but it's there."

"Isn't that rubbing alcohol?" Tony asked, although he didn't sound sure.

"Indeed," Ducky replied. "The product with one thousand uses, although none of them should involve ingestion."

"He drank it?"

"I can't confirm that without his body," Ducky told him. "But it was absorbed into his bloodstream somehow."

"Maybe he had a really big rash?" Tony tried.

Gibbs sighed hard and shot him a withering look. "You hear his wife say anything about that, DiNozzo?"

"No," Tony allowed. "But we should ask."

"It is more likely that it was ingested, or injected," Ducky said.

"How much would he have had to drink to kill him?" Borin asked.

"Could have been as little as a single glass," Ducky said.

"But that stuff stinks," Tony pointed out. "If someone gave it to him, wouldn't he have smelled it? Or tasted it?"

Ducky looked thoughtful. "If it was administered mixed in with a cocktail or vodka, it is possible he may not have noticed. Of course, he may have ingested it knowingly and willingly."

"Suicide?" Tony said doubtfully. "I don't know. I watched the videos of his last few days. Looked at the photos. He seemed pretty happy."

"Was there any evidence that he put his affairs in order before he and his wife went on their cruise?" Borin asked.

Tony looked at Gibbs for his take, but shook his head. "Alicia didn't mention it."

"But we didn't ask," Gibbs pointed out.

Tony raised his eyebrows. "And she seems pretty gung-ho about the murder angle."

"Could she have given it to him?" Borin asked.

"Why bring it to our attention if she did?" Tony asked, using Ziva's argument from the night before. "It's been four months, and if she did it, she's already gotten away with it."

"Guilt," Gibbs said. "It eats away at you."

Tony didn't buy into it, but it seemed like Gibbs had enough doubt in his mind to make them check it out. "We can get in touch with their friends in the morning. See if there were any signs of trouble in the marriage."

"We already know she wouldn't have done it for money, right?" Borin checked. "Her family's loaded."

"Old money," Tony confirmed. "He would've made money from killing her, not the other way around."

"So that leaves jealousy as a motive," Borin said. "Maybe she found out he was having an affair."

"Or maybe _she_ was having an affair, and wanted him out of the way," Tony countered.

"Or maybe neither," Gibbs said. "But we should check it out in the morning." He passed by Ducky and gently cuffed him on the arm. "Thanks, Duck," he said, and then continued out to the hallway to call the elevator.

Borin looked at DiNozzo. "Class dismissed?"

Tony nodded and slid off the autopsy slab. "Dismissed. You're free to go off and do whatever it is that you do in your free time."

Borin looked at him with mild unease. "Yeah, we're going to have to start on getting to know each other tomorrow."

"Knitting, swing dancing and MMA?" Tony suggested.

Borin smirked. "You read me like a book."

"You haven't started on developing your cover story then?" Ducky asked with a bemused smile.

"I'm thinking that we should be national clog dancing champions celebrating a big win," Tony said.

Borin chuckled. "Actually, I was thinking ice dancing champions." She paused and looked him up and down. "But I don't think people would buy that you're a champion at anything that required you to wear Lycra."

Because he was still in a good mood from last night, Tony joked with her instead of playing up his offence. "Wrestler, maybe. But we're both over 40, so maybe we have to settle for being champions at canasta."

"If I may?" Ducky broke in. "I believe cruises are places for couples to enjoy each other's romantic company. Start there."

The idea of spending a week or more in the company of a beautiful woman in a bikini should have been a lot more appealing than Tony currently found it. But as it was, Tony knew that selling a romantic relationship with Borin would require quite a bit of effort. Not because he didn't find her attractive (he did) or fun (he did). And not because he felt like he was on the verge of embarking on a serious and long-awaited romance with someone else. But because the more time he spent with Borin, the more Tony felt like she was either his sister or just one of the guys.

"Ew," Borin said, playing her role perfectly. "You got anything that'll help stop the spread of cooties, Dr Mallard?"

"Rubbing alcohol," Ducky replied. "But not enough to kill."

* * *

Inching closer to cruising...with Borin? Wha?


	8. Chapter 8

It was past lunch the next day by the time Ziva and McGee returned from interviewing Will and Alicia's friends. As expected, none of them had seen or heard anything in the lead up to Will's death that suggested the couple was having problems. The Crawfords were stable, treated each other with respect, and still seemed madly in love. Any suggestion that they might have had an argument that lead to Will's death was met with flat out rejection and offence.

"At least we can strike that off the list," McGee said as he dumped his bag on the floor by his desk. "But maybe Gibbs'll find out that Will rewrote his, uh, will before he died."

"Evidence of suicide?" Ziva said. "I do not think so."

"Me neither." McGee sat heavily in his chair and looked around. "Tony must still be with Borin."

Ziva smirked at the idea of Tony and Borin developing a romantic back story for their relationship. "Coming up with the story of how they met."

McGee looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm going to go with…blind date set up."

Ziva grinned, but shook her head. "Italian film festival," she predicted.

McGee raised an eyebrow. "You want to put a little wager on that?"

Ziva dug into her jeans pocket and pulled out a crinkled $5 note. She walked over and dropped it on McGee's desk. "It is all I have on me right now."

McGee fished his wallet out of his pocket and thumbed through a few notes before dropping $5 on top of Ziva's bet. "You're on," he said, and then gave her a curious smile. "You good with all this?"

"With what?" Ziva asked as she returned to her desk.

"Tony and Borin doing the undercover thing."

Ziva tried to deploy her poker face as she looked at him. It wasn't clear to her whether he was asking because he'd deduced that there was something more going on between her and Tony and thought she might be personally jealous, or because Ziva was usually the one to do undercover with Tony, and he thought she might be professionally jealous. In fact, Ziva wasn't jealous for either reason, but she wanted to know what McGee was thinking, and whether she had to ask him to keep his mouth shut around Gibbs and Abby.

"Am I good with it?" she repeated, prompting him to explain himself.

McGee hesitated, and then told an almost convincing lie. "No, I mean do you think they'll be good?" he revised. "Do you think they'll be able to sell it?"

She narrowed her eyes briefly, enough to tell him she knew he'd changed the question, but then answered at face value. "Yes, of course. You do not?"

McGee shrugged. "I guess so. They get along really well, but they don't have that… _thing_ , you know?"

"The thing?"

"Well, it'd be like if you and me went undercover as a couple," McGee explained. "Or Tony and Abby. There's just no…"

"Sexual interest," Ziva finished for him.

"Exactly," McGee said with an embarrassed smile. It quickly dropped, though, when he realized he might have offended her. "I mean, not that I don't think you're attractive. I do! You're beautiful. But I'm just saying that you and I aren't…I mean, I don't think of you like that. Because you're like my sister. My really beautiful sister."

Ziva chuckled and shook her head, absolving him of any guilt. "Relax, McGee. I understand. And I agree."

"Okay," McGee said as his cheeks flushed. "I think Tony and Borin are more like buddies than a married couple."

"Borin is a very attractive woman with whom Tony gets along very well," Ziva said. "I have no doubt he will be able to feign sexual interest in her." She paused and threw a mischievous grin at her friend. "Borin may find it more difficult to reciprocate."

McGee gave her a tight smile in return, and Ziva was left wondering again whether McGee had sensed the change in his partners' relationship.

"Is there something on your mind, McGee?" she asked, trying not to sound confrontational.

"No," he said quickly. "No, nothing. Just the case."

She nodded slowly and considered pursuing it further, but ultimately decided against it. If McGee had his suspicions, Ziva felt sure he would keep them to himself. Timothy McGee could always be counted on for discretion. She grabbed her empty water bottle and stood up. "Then I will be in the break room."

She left McGee and walked through the bullpen and past rows of filing cabinets to the kitchen. She was surprised to find Tony and Borin sitting in there at one of the tables, notepads in front of them that were full of scribbles. An origami crane sat near Tony's right elbow, and she wondered if he was responsible for it. He had never mentioned his paper folding skills to her before.

"How is it going?" she asked them as she walked over to the filtered water dispenser.

"The honeymoon is over," Borin told her, but they were both smirking and Ziva had the feeling they were both still in relatively good moods. She suspected that good-natured sniping at each other would form the basis of their 'marriage'.

"I am sorry to hear that," Ziva replied. "But I am told it happens to all couples eventually."

"Did you get anything out of the Crawfords' friends?" Tony asked.

Ziva pulled a chair out and sat down at the table with them. "No. We heard the same story over and over. The Crawfords were very much in love, they were having no marital or financial problems that anyone knew of. They were generally offended that we would suggest otherwise."

"Were they convincing?" he asked.

Ziva's eyes were drawn down to his fidgeting fingers. He was wearing a gold ring on his third finger, and he was spinning it around and around with the thumb and middle finger of his other hand. "Yes," she replied, and looked at Borin's left hand. She was wearing a modest silver ring with a few small diamonds set into the band. "Is that the ring you are going to wear?" she asked.

Borin made a fist and turned her knuckles towards her face to look at the ring. "Yeah. Found it in the evidence locker. Why?"

"You know that it is cubic zirconia."

Borin shrugged. "I have no idea if it is."

"No, it is," Ziva said confidently. "I am telling you."

Borin looked surprised. "Do you know about diamonds?"

"She's Israeli," Tony reminded her. "Yes, she knows about diamonds."

"You cannot use that ring," Ziva said. "It looks fake." She paused and looked between them. "Unless it fits into the background story you have developed."

Tony smiled charmingly at her and offered her his hand. "Hi. I'm Tom De Luca," he said, and Ziva shook his hand. "This is my wife, Carol Brady."

Borin winked at Ziva across the table. "Pleased to meet you."

Ziva chuckled to herself. Honestly, she thought the two of them would probably work very well together. "Carol Brady?"

"Amy De Luca, actually," Borin said, and then frowned and looked at Tony. "I really don't think I'm an Amy. I'm going back to Anna."

Tony turned a tight smile on Ziva. "Anna's indecisive."

Ziva picked up the origami crane and ran her fingertip along its wing. "How long have Tom and Anna been together?" she asked.

"This is our first wedding anniversary," Tony said. "But we met four years ago."

"How?" Ziva asked, raising her eyebrow and hoping she was about to win a bet.

"Film festival," Tony said, and Ziva had to chuckle.

"Of course," she said. "What do you do for a living, Tom? Professional paper folder?" She twirled the crane in her fingers.

Tony leaned towards her and gave her another charming smile. "Actually, I'm a physiotherapist," he said.

"A doctor…of sorts," Ziva said, playing at being impressed before making an obvious statement. "Do you think that could be risky?"

"You mean because people will be so impressed by my skills that I'll draw too much attention to myself?" Tony guessed.

"No," she replied, enjoying that he was playing with her. "Because if someone falls over on the deck in front of you, you may need to provide assistance to them."

Tony shook his head. "No, because I'm not insured by the cruise line to practice. Both of us could get in a lot of trouble if I did. The most I could do would be to offer the person basic CPR or a rub down. But I'm not going to do that either."

Ziva nodded, pleased that he'd thought it through. She looked at Borin. "And what about you, Anna? What do you do?"

"Oh, I just have an office job," she said, sounding disappointed. "It's not very interesting."

"That is probably for the best."

"I hate it so much and can't wait to quit," Borin told her.

"Kids?" Ziva asked.

They both shook their heads.

"They're not for us," Borin said.

"And we already have so many nieces and nephews," Tony added.

"How darling," Ziva said, and then twirled the crane again. "I did not know you were a master of origami."

"Well, I'm a little rusty," he allowed. "But it comes back to you in times of need."

"Times of need?" she asked. "When do times ever call for an origami crane?"

"When I'm trying to impress women," he said obviously.

"Didn't impress me," Borin shot in.

Tony smiled, but didn't take his eyes off Ziva. "It didn't impress her. But I don't think many things impress Shania Twain over there."

"Got that right."

Ziva put the crane down and leaned back in her chair again before she found herself dragged too far into the oh-so-inviting vortex with her partner. There were boundaries that they would never cross at work. She looked at Borin, and was surprised to find her looking at them with outright suspicion. Ziva squared her shoulders and shook off the warm and fuzzy feelings gathering within her.

"I will bring you a ring," she told Borin. "A physiotherapist should be able to afford at least a small diamond."

Borin whacked Tony's shoulder gently. "You're so cheap."

"I prefer to think of myself as a social progressive," Tony argued. "Diamond mining is a murky business."

"I'll try to remember that about you," Borin said, and then reached for her ringing cell phone. She checked caller ID and then pushed her chair back. "Excuse me," she said, and then walked from the room as she answered. "Borin."

Ziva watched her go, and then turned to look at Tony. He was already looking at her, and gave her a smile that warmed her cheeks and made her belly tingle. She shifted slightly in her seat.

"What?" she asked.

He looked suddenly innocent. "Nothing. Just looking."

She ignored that and focused on the task ahead of them. "How do you feel about this?" she asked.

He looked her up and down with a slight smirk. "About _what_ exactly, Ziva?"

"The case, DiNozzo," she said firmly, but without the tone that would normally tell him how much he was irritating her.

He smiled again, and then sat back and turned his attention where it needed to be. "Okay. We've got our basics sorted out. I'm pretty confident we can come up with whatever we need to on our feet. And we've both got good poker faces."

Ziva nodded. "I think you need to be careful about one thing. Although you get along vey well, there is not much of a spark between you. As of now, you come across as a couple that has been together for a very long time and no longer have that, uh…" she paused to give him a flirty, sultry look, "…rabid desire for each other."

"Rabid desire," Tony repeated slowly, as the heat returned to his eyes.

"Yes," she said. "If you are pretending to still be relative newlyweds, you will need to work a little harder at convincing people you are actually interested in touching each other."

Tony nodded slowly, looking vaguely amused.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I appreciate your interest in it."

"It is important to protect your cover," she explained.

"I know," he said. "But just to be clear, I have no interest in her."

"Understood."

"And you can't get huffy if you see me kiss her."

Ziva frowned. "What is huffy?"

"Cranky. Shirty. Grouchy."

"But you would be doing your job," Ziva pointed out. "I would be proud of you."

Tony got a strange look on his face, and for a moment she thought _he_ was going to get 'huffy' with her. But it passed quickly and he gave her a nod. "Okay. Got it."

Borin returned then, and Tony looked up at her. "Hey, Ziva says that we've got to start making out and feeling each other up."

Borin glanced between them, but quickly returned her attention to her phone. "Yeah, sure," she said distractedly. "I knew when I signed up for this job that sometimes I'd have to do things I didn't like."

Tony shot her a bitchy smile and crossed his arms over his chest. "Thanks."

"I gotta go," Borin said. "My director wants to see me about another case. But we'll get to first base tomorrow, okay?"

"I'll bring mints," Tony said.

Borin waved her hand holding her phone in goodbye, and then turned to walk out of the break room. Almost immediately she collided with McGee, who came rushing in to search for his colleagues.

"Whoa! Easy, McGee!" Borin exclaimed as she staggered back a step before finding her footing.

McGee reached out to grab her arm and steady her. "Sorry! I didn't see you."

"Yeah, I hope that's not the way you greet people you _do_ see," Borin said as she passed him.

"Sorry," McGee said again, and then turned to Ziva and Tony. "Gibbs is back. He wants a debrief."

Tony and Ziva pushed back their chairs and followed McGee towards the door. As he went ahead, Ziva caught Tony's sleeve and tugged slightly. When he turned to look down at her, she stepped in closer and raised her eyebrows.

"Are you okay?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Tony blinked at her and frowned like he couldn't understand where she was coming from. But he didn't quite pull it off. "Sure," he said easily. "Let's debrief the boss." He flexed his wrist to reach back and squeeze her hand briefly, and then walked ahead towards the bullpen. As Ziva followed, she couldn't help feeling that she had offended him somehow.

…

They had barely returned to the bullpen before Gibbs engaged them. "Sit-rep," he said without looking up from the piece of paper he was writing on.

"We spoke to the Crawfords' closest friends, as well as Will Crawford's brother and mother," McGee began. "The overwhelming response was that Will and Alicia were the perfect couple."

Ziva continued, "A woman named Phoebe Jensen stated that Alicia had difficulty at times dealing with Will being away so much, but that they were both committed to, quote _'developing risk management strategies to combat future relationship fractures before they materialized'_ , end quote."

Gibbs slowly lifted his head to stare at her with barely disguised disgust. As Ziva smirked, Tony took a version of Gibbs' words out of his mouth.

"Is Phoebe Jensen a robot that rarely encounters real live human beings?"

Ziva glanced his way. "I believe she is a lawyer of some sort."

Tony's lip curled. "Oh. Your favorite, boss."

Gibbs briefly closed his eyes, took a calming breath, and then focused on Ziva again. "What else?"

"His brother, Billy, is not particularly close to Alicia," she said. "I got the impression that he did not like her very much." She looked to McGee for his take, and he nodded in agreement. "But he stated that Will was very happy in the marriage and was looking forward to starting a family."

"Yeah, and all of Alicia's friends backed that up," McGee said. "Starting a family was a priority for them. They were planning for the future as if they'd both be there."

"Were you able to find out anything about his will?" Tony asked Gibbs.

"Didn't have one," Gibbs told them, and returned his pen to his penholder. "I got hold of his CO. There was no evidence he tied up any loose ends before he went on leave."

"So he probably didn't drink the Kool Aid," Tony said.

Gibbs didn't bother replying. It was fairly obvious that Will Crawford had not committed suicide, and it looked likely that Alicia hadn't been involved either. They had to focus on the other people who had been around him on the night that he died. That list was potentially a few thousand names long, but they at least had four as a starting point; the Paulsons and the Roses.

"You got your story straight with Borin?" Gibbs grumbled at Tony.

"Ziva wants me to grab her ass more."

Gibbs stared back him, impassive. "Ziva's or Borin's?" he asked, deadpan.

Ziva rolled her eyes as Tony cocked his head to the side in thought. "Hmm. I assumed she meant Borin's, but I could be wrong."

"Shut up, DiNozzo," Ziva muttered, and returned to her desk.

"Cover story is straight," Tony told Gibbs. "Abby's working on our documents right now."

"No, I'm right here!" Abby said as she trotted into the bullpen, her lab coat flapping behind her.

"Except that she's here right now," Tony continued without missing a beat. He turned and flashed a smile at her. "Afternoon, Abby One."

Abby waved her iPad at him. "Got some stuff to show you and Abby Two."

"Abby Two is otherwise indisposed right now," he told her. "But I make all the decisions in the relationship." The comment made Ziva snort pointedly, just as he knew it would. He was a bit testy with her so he wasn't entirely sure why he'd handed the opportunity to make fun of him to her. Habit, he supposed. "What do you need?" he asked Abby.

Abby stood beside him and held her iPad up in front of them. On the screen was a photo of Tony and Borin in swimsuits, standing on a beach at sunset with their arms around each other. It was photographic evidence of an event that had never happened, and Tony felt kind of uneasy about it.

"That's not really my body, is it?" he said almost sadly. His torso in the photo boasted a lean six-pack and zero hair.

"No, of course not!" Abby replied, grinning as if the suggestion it _was_ him would be ridiculous. But when she looked up at him her eyes grew wide and she immediately tried to undo the damage that her amusement had caused. "I mean, because I don't have a photo of you standing on the beach with your shirt off. So I had to find a substitute that reflected my best guess of what you really do look like under these stylish clothes." She gestured at him with a flourish, but her guilty eyes showed that she knew she's failed to cover up her unintended insult.

McGee popped his head over Tony's shoulder and laughed outright, and Tony shot him a sharp look.

"Why don't you throw some more stones around in your glass house, McGee?"

McGee grinned, completely unashamed, and then returned to his seat.

"I used to look like that," Tony said to Abby, feeling a strong stab of regret before a little bit of embarrassment took over. Suddenly, discussing Father Time's effect on his body in front of the woman he was keen to start sleeping with seemed like a very bad idea somehow. "We should go somewhere else to do this."

"Best idea you've had all week, DiNozzo," Gibbs called out.

He took Abby back to the kitchen and they sat at the table he'd been at with Borin just a few minutes before.

"I didn't know you were a Photoshop master," he said to Abby. "Although I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

Abby bumped her elbow against him and gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry about before."

Tony shook his head, acting like it didn't bother him, and training his eyes on the photo. "I'm not 25 anymore," he stated.

"None of us are."

"Ziva's close enough," he muttered, more to himself than to Abby.

"Tony."

"It's just, you know, lack of time and irregular meals and stress and slowing metabolism," he tried to explain.

"Tony!" Abby exclaimed. "You don't have to plead your case. You're still totally hot."

He looked at her hopefully. "Really?"

Abby grinned. "I like you with a bit more character," she said diplomatically, and seemingly sincerely.

He smiled, but admitted, "I don't really like being in my forties."

Abby raised her eyebrows in agreement. "Me neither. But we don't have a choice."

"Your hotness only increases as well, Abs."

She gave him a sultry wink. "I know."

He sighed and returned his attention to the photo. "Okay," he said, getting back on track. "Why are you showing me this mirror into my distant past?"

"A lot of married people carry photos of their spouses around with them in their wallets," she pointed out. "I've doctored a couple of shots of you and Borin together, and I'm trying to work out which shots would be the ones your alter egos would be more likely to carry around."

She flicked to another shot on her iPad. This one showed Tony and Borin's heads Photoshopped onto the bodies of a couple in formal wear at a party.

"No, I'm more likely to have the beach shot," he said.

"What about this one?" Abby asked, and flicked to a third shot. It was a studio shot of Tony and Borin lounging together on the ground in front of a fake fireplace and wearing matching Christmas sweaters.

"Oh, you've got to be joking," he said to Abby.

Abby chuckled. "Kind of. But I also kind of love it. Even if you reject it I'm going to frame it and put it on my wall."

Tony shook his head. "I think Tom and Anna are beach people."

Abby frowned. "Anna? I thought she was Amy!"

"She changed her mind. Doesn't feel like an Amy."

Abby pouted. "Well…I have to do her IDs again."

"Then leave it as Amy," Tony said. "It's already a pain in the ass."

"You're making the decisions, huh?"

"You got that right," he said with false bravado, and then flicked back to the beach shot. "You reckon this is what Borin looks like?"

Abby shrugged. "Similar height, weight and general body type."

He squinted at the photo. "Hot."

"Hey, don't get up to any funny business while you're on your little Love Boat adventure," Abby told him. "It'll just be awkward for all of us."

"How will it be awkward for _you?_ " he wanted to know.

"Because Gibbs will find out!" Abby said obviously. "And once Gibbs knows, Ziva will find out. And, okay, you're just friends. But it'll still be really weird, and when you get back McGee will feel the tension between you and he'll end up spending a lot more time in the lab, avoiding _you_. And I love it when Timmy comes for a visit, Tony, but it's really hard to concentrate on things when he's down there and being nervous and skittish and hiding instead of being his normal wonderful, helpful self." She stopped and drew a breath before lack of oxygen made her pass out.

Tony blinked slowly as he caught up with Abby's thoughts. "So…I _shouldn't_ grab her ass?" he pretended to check.

Abby thumped his arm. "Tony."

"There will be plenty of business on the trip, but none of it will be funny," he assured her. "It will all be serious, professional and undertaken with the utmost decorum that is appropriate for a public audience."

Abby pursed her lips. "Well, that sounds terrible."

"I'm saying things won't be weird," he told her. "At least on my end. I mean, I think it's a given that Borin's going to fall in love with me, but I know how to let her down easy at the end. Stop taking all her calls and ignore her texts."

Abby rolled her eyes at the joke and pushed back from the table. "You sure you're not 25 anymore?"

"That's what my sciatica says."

She grabbed her iPad and hugged it to her chest. "I'll print out a copy of the photo for Tom's wallet."

"Thank you."

"Acupuncture," she called over her shoulder.

"What did you just call me?"

She turned around to grin at him as she kept backing up out of the kitchen. "For your sciatica," she said. "I know a guy."

"I'll keep that in mind," he lied.

…

Late that night, Tony stood in the break room and poured himself a cup of decaf coffee. It was pointless, he knew. It wouldn't have the kick he needed to stay awake, but he hoped that the taste would be enough to trick his brain into staying alert for just another hour. Then, he hoped that the lack of caffeine would allow him to fall asleep as soon as he got home. He knew from experience that neither of these things was likely to happen. But, call him an optimist, he just kept on trying.

"You are still here."

Tony smiled at the familiarly accented voice, and looked over his shoulder at Ziva. "So are you," he pointed out.

Ziva shrugged and took a seat at one of the tables. "I got caught talking to Agent Faulkner on the Middle East desk," she said.

Tony held his cup of coffee out to her, asking if she wanted one. Ziva shook her head no, so he joined her at the table. "How are things in the Middle East?"

"Messy," she replied. "Why are you still here? I thought you went home."

"Crossing my 't's and dotting my 'i's," he said. "Preparing myself for important undercover work. You know how it is."

"I vaguely remember." She looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you feel all right about this?"

Tony took a sip of the weak, awful coffee and nodded. "Yeah, of course. Why?"

"When we spoke in here earlier, you seemed to be a little uncomfortable."

Tony swallowed down another sip of coffee and managed not to choke. Hoo-boy. This was going to be one of those relationship conversations, but it was coming before they were technically in a relationship. Was that fair? He could lie and keep some distance, but that wasn't a great start to things.

"Not uncomfortable," he told her, and then looked around to double-check that there wasn't anyone else around. "I just found it…interesting," he said carefully, "that you were so comfortable with and encouraging of potential relations—albeit not sincere relations—between me and Agent Borin."

Ziva watched him impassively for a moment, and Tony winced internally. He was old enough to know that honesty was not always the best policy, but he'd thought that he'd at least give it a go. Perhaps he'd been wrong about that.

"What?" she finally asked.

He could shut this down now. He could gloss over what he'd already said and move on. But he was actually pretty interested to know why she was so gung-ho about his undercover assignment. After their earth shattering kiss the other night, he'd thought they were moving on towards something together. But her enthusiasm for him to show _more_ enthusiasm with Borin left him puzzled. Sure, it was work. But her reaction left him with a shadow of a doubt that didn't sit well with him. So he said a quick prayer that he wasn't about to screw everything up, and then explained to her what he was thinking about.

"You're not jealous about this situation at all, are you?" he asked, trying hard not to sound confrontational.

Ziva sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, and leveled him with a gaze that was tinged with disappointment. "Do you want me to be?" she asked, and her tone made it very clear that she was pretty irritated by the idea.

Tony sighed heavily. He shouldn't have said anything. He leaned his elbows on the table and tried to work out exactly what was bugging him, and how he wanted it to be different. "No," he said firmly. "I don't want you to be jealous. I think we've both used that word enough in the past, and it's not right. Not then, and not now."

That took some of the fight out of her, but she remained defensive. "Right now I do not feel I have any reason to be."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Of course you don't."

Ziva placed her palms flat on the table, and Tony watched her swallow hard. He got the distinct impression that she was forcing her backbone to remain strong in the moment, but when her eyes flicked away from his face to the floor for a moment, he realized that she was as nervous and confused about all this as he was. And understandably, since they were having a conversation about jealously before they were even in a relationship.

"Then why are you…?" she started to argue, but then seemed to bite her tongue. Her eyes strayed to the door, and Tony's heart fell. He recognized that behavior. He could tell by the way her shoulders and arms tensed that she was thinking about physically removing herself from the situation in the hope that they'd just forget about it instead of talking it out. How many times had they both done that over the years? But then she closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and relaxed her body, and he felt the tension dissipate. She opened her eyes again to look at him, and Tony felt the effort to change her behavior as if it were a tangible thing. He felt a good kind of pang in his heart. If she could keep doing that, and if he could modify his behaviors that drove her nuts, then they might actually have a shot at making whatever they were on the brink of work.

"You seem upset that I am not," Ziva said carefully, and as calmly as she could.

Tony shook his head and gave her a quick smile of thanks for trying to understand him instead of walking away. "No. I guess I didn't expect you to be so encouraging of your…" He trailed off when he realized he had no idea how to refer to himself in her world right now. "Well… _me_ selling the cover of being in a relationship with another woman. Even if this," he gestured between them, "is still intangible…ish."

He watched her mouth twitch in a smile at his attempt to explain and quantify. "Do not confuse a lack of jealousy with comfort," she told him.

Tony nodded, satisfied that he knew where she was coming from. Really, he did. They were both committed to their jobs, and there would be times when one of them had to do something that the other one didn't like. He would just need to be reminded of the fact every now and then, and perhaps hear the words from her mouth. "Right."

Ziva nodded. "Right. So…are we okay?" she asked tentatively.

He tossed her a smile. "Yeah, of course."

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Ziva crossed her legs and leaned forward. "Tony, I think it would be a good idea for us to talk about things a little more specifically."

He frowned. "What things?" Did she want to keep discussing this?

"Us things," she almost explained, but Tony caught on. He nodded quickly, feeling a sense of sudden relief rush through him.

"Yes. I think we should do that."

"When you get back from the Caribbean, yes?" she suggested. "We can have dinner and…talk."

"Sounds good."

Ziva nodded and gave him a small but warm smile, and then brushed her fingers briefly against his before standing up. "Right. Now, I am going home. You should not stay too much longer either."

"I won't," he promised. "Sleep tight."

"See you tomorrow, Tony," she said, and then left the break room.

"Night," he called after her, and found himself reflecting that lately, Ziva David sure had a talent for leaving him smiling.

* * *

So, not to spoil my own story, but you guys worrying that Tony and Borin will end up going undercover with each other can probably relax.


	9. Chapter 9

Tony was ravenous the next morning. He had gotten home late and for the first time in his life he'd decided that sleep was more important than dinner. Despite that, he'd slept in significantly in the morning, and didn't end up leaving his house until about ten minutes before he usually arrived at work. Even then, he'd decided to make a quick stop to pick up coffee and a bagel. Feeling generous, he made another stop at a nearby bakery he knew that sold little pieces of artery-clogging deliciousness. Okay, perhaps it wasn't generosity. Perhaps he was just on a high from feeling like things were about to get more defined between him and Ziva. But what the hell did it matter? The team would receive sweet, fluffy pastries to get them through the day, and anyone who questioned his motivations could just return their pastry to the box so that other, more grateful people could enjoy it.

He stepped out of the elevator and into the bullpen 20 minutes later, and he knew Gibbs would be pissed. But frankly, he didn't care. He had a good mood on his side, plus pastries. And he had a week of sunshine ahead of him which, while it would sadly take him away from the woman responsible for his cheeriness, he was almost looking forward to.

Gibbs and his perpetual dark cloud could shove it.

"Morning, co-workers!" he greeted loudly as he came around the corner. "Sorry I'm late, but I bring pasties of penance." He gestured at the white bakery box in his hand in a flourish.

His co-workers looked back at him silently, and with varying emotions. McGee looked pleased, but suspicious. Gibbs looked annoyed. And Ziva, aside from looking delicious herself, looked at him with a warning to tone it down. He swallowed and adjusted his smile down a few notches.

"What happened?" he asked when no one said anything. "Did pastries become a dirty word?"

"Why are you in a good mood?" McGee asked, narrowing his eyes. "And buying pastries?"

Tony dropped his bag on the floor and slid the box onto his desk. "Can't I just be in a good mood, McGoo?" he challenged.

"I suppose I might be in a good mood if I was about to go off on an all-expenses paid cruise to the Caribbean," McGee muttered.

He was very close to forfeiting pastry rights. "I don't make the rules, McGee."

"I do," Gibbs shot in. "One of 'em is _never be late_."

Tony smoothed his tie down his chest as he took a seat behind his desk. "Really? Hadn't heard that one, boss."

Gibbs just glared at him.

"My apologies," he offered again, without much sincerity. "Won't happen again."

"So…are you going to pass them out?" McGee asked.

"Later," Tony sniffed. "You've all been rude to me. You need time to turn that around before you can benefit from this bounty of baked goods."

"Am I to guess you've already had some of that sugar this morning?" McGee asked.

"You are not. I'm just in a good mood," Tony repeated.

"Okay." McGee looked between him and Ziva. "Ziva hasn't said a word to you yet. Does she have to wait?"

Tony looked across at Ziva as she looked up at him. "You're right. She hasn't said a word to me yet."

"Good morning, Tony," Ziva said deliberately.

He gave her a bright smile. "Good morning. Would you like a pastry?"

"Thank you, but my breakfast is still settling. I will have one later."

"A sensible approach," he said, and then heard Gibbs heave an epic sigh. Tony fought the urge to roll his eyes, but turned his attention to work. "So, any major developments overnight?" he asked. "I don't suppose anyone came forward and confessed to murder?"

"They might've, in the time it took you to get in and turn your attention to your job," Gibbs said.

"Unnecessary, boss," Tony said, feeling his good mood ebb away. "No pastry for you."

"I had a thought," Ziva cut in before things escalated. "Who is the boss?"

"Who's the boss?" Tony repeated.

"Gibbs," McGee answered.

"Or Tony Danza," Tony added, hearing the theme song to an 80s sitcom in his head. "Or Judith Light. I think it was supposed to be Judith Light."

"Well, she was _definitely_ the boss," McGee said. "She employed Tony Danza. But I think the title of the show meant to throw that into question."

"You're right," Tony said, and he and McGee frowned at each other as they tried to work it out. "I'm going to be thinking about this all day now."

"Maybe it was meant to be Alyssa Milano?"

Tony shook his head, but Ziva was the one to speak.

"I have no idea what either of you are talking about," she said. "But I was referring to the boss Paulson referenced in the video tape Abby studied."

"Oh! I've been thinking about that too," McGee said, getting on board with her. "I thought it had to be Paulson's big brother, since he's the one who paid for John Paulson's house and cars."

"It could be," Ziva said. She leaned over her desk and pointed at McGee, palm to the ceiling, as she made her point. "But who is Paulson and Rose taking the teddy bears to in Key West? Is his brother meeting him there?"

Tony thought he knew the answer to that. "No. I checked Jim Paulson's Facebook page when I checked everyone else's. He posts daily and he's made no mention of being in Florida in the last few months."

"Perhaps he was lying about his whereabouts," Ziva said.

"Why would he? It's not like they know that anyone's on to them."

"Yeah, but if you're planning a crime, you plan an alibi," McGee said obviously.

"I know that, Danny Ocean," Tony sighed. "But he was posting photos from New York when the others were in Key West."

McGee looked at him as though he was charmed by Tony's idiocy. "You can fake that pretty easily, Tony," he said condescendingly.

Tony curled his lip at him. "Definitely no pastry for you," he said. "Me and Ziva and the Abbys are going to eat them all."

"Focus on what we do know," Gibbs said.

"That's not much, boss," McGee said.

"The Paulsons and Roses are all in on it," Ziva said, talking with her hands. "Probably. Whatever _it_ is. It is likely the older brother is also in on it. There must be people in the Dominican Republic involved—they are the ones giving Paulson and Rose the bears."

"And there's got to be people in Key West involved," Tony added. "The people receiving the coke bears."

"Did Paulson have any friends on that Face thing who are based in Key West?" Gibbs asked him.

"Can't remember," he said. "But I can start looking through them and find out."

Gibbs nodded. "Do it. McGee, you take the older brother. Ziva, you take Martin Rose."

"On it," she said, and then shot Tony a discreet look that he read as _needle in a haystack_. He nodded back. Talk about tedious. But his good mood reminded him that this wasn't close to the worst thing he had to do in his career. One of the most boring, sure. But at least they weren't elbow-deep in dead bodies or being literally tortured. He had to keep that in perspective.

…

An hour into the search, Tony tore his eyes from his computer screen and rolled his neck and shoulders. He looked across at Ziva, whose chin was resting heavily in her hand as she stared with crushing boredom at her computer. When he looked at McGee, he found him with almost the exact same expression. Gibbs had disappeared.

"So," he said, and then stifled a yawn. "Anyone find anything useful? Or sordid? I'll take sordid."

"I have a lot of private accounts," Ziva said. "I cannot say for sure, but I cannot find anyone in the Dominican Republic or in Key West on Martin Rose's page."

"Yeah, same deal on Paulson's older brother," McGee said. "There's a guy in Nassau who he's friends with. That's about as close as it gets. But I've got a bunch of private accounts as well."

"Did you have any luck?" Ziva asked him.

"I guess the best of the bunch," Tony said. "I've got a guy named Oscar McCarthy in Key West who's friends with Paulson. It looks like he runs some kind of small charter boat business."

Ziva and McGee both perked up.

"That is something," Ziva said, and then got up and walked around to look at his computer over his shoulder. The smell of her immediately had an effect on him, but he tried to ignore it. "Pull him up."

Tony searched back through his pages for the right one, and McGee stood up to join them. He finally found Oscar's page, and then scrolled down through his timeline for the others' benefit. The photos all followed the same theme. "Boat, boat, boat, water, boat."

"It's what I imagine Gibbs' Facebook page would be like if he had one," McGee murmured.

"Has Paulson posted on his wall recently?" Ziva asked.

"Just a comment about a photo of sunset over the ocean a few weeks ago," Tony said. He scrolled until he found the photo, and then highlighted John Paulson's comment. _Great shot, buddy. Wish I was there_.

Ziva sighed heavily. "Not exactly a smoking gun."

"I'll check if he's got a record," McGee said, and walked back to his desk.

While they waited for McGee to run his name, Ziva leaned over Tony's desk and put a fingertip on the bakery box. She slid it closer, and then opened the lid and peeked inside. "Éclairs?"

He knew they were a favorite of hers. "You're welcome."

She smiled as her eyes flicked over him. "Very thoughtful of you."

"I try to look after my co-workers."

"Hey, I got something," McGee said. He waited for Tony and Ziva to cross to his desk before continuing. "Oscar McCarthy has done time in Florida for theft and possession with intent to distribute."

"Possession of what?"

"Marijuana."

Ziva made a face. "There is no way they are smuggling marijuana from the Dominican Republic to Florida. Not unless they are even more stupid than we thought."

"It has him involved in a certain lifestyle, though," Tony said. "Maybe he graduated to the stronger stuff."

"Or maybe he's on the straight and narrow, and there's not actually anything illegal going on here at all," McGee said.

Tony shared a look with Ziva. He knew she felt there was something going on, but he wasn't entirely convinced.

McGee's desk phone rang then, and he answered quickly. "McGee. Hi boss." He paused and looked upstairs towards Vance's office. "Sure. I'll be right up." He hung up and shrugged at the others. "Gibbs and Vance want to see me," he said, and then brushed past them on his way to the stairs.

"You're in so much trouble!" Tony called after him, despite not having a clue what was going on. He turned back around and faced Ziva. "I've got to admit, I'm getting really tired of not knowing what's going on."

Ziva frowned. "With McGee?"

"No, on this case," he said. "There are all these threads that can't be definitively tied."

"Well, that is why you are being sent to the Caribbean for eight days," Ziva said. "To tie the threads."

"I hope they tie together in a simple bow," Tony said. "I was never a boy scout, so I don't know how to tie a slip knot or that figure eight one or…I don't know the name of any other knots."

"You do not want to force it to come together," she translated.

"Right."

"No one wants you to," Ziva said. "And your wife is here."

Tony frowned at her. "What?"

Ziva's eyes fixed on a spot over his left shoulder and she nodded pointedly. He turned to see Borin stride into the bullpen, coffee in one hand and the other buried in her pants pocket. She gave them a pleasant smile.

"Oh, my _wife_ ," he said.

"Ex," Borin told them. "Sorry, DiNozzo, but this ain't working out for me. I'm breaking up with you."

Tony lifted an eyebrow as he sat back on his desk. "Wow. It was only a day, but the rejection still stings."

"What happened?" Ziva asked her.

"I have to go up to Maine," Borin told them. "There was a shooting on a super yacht off the coat on the weekend."

"I read about that," Ziva said. "Husband, wife and a teenage daughter."

Borin nodded. "Yeah. The case is getting tangled. Seems like it might be connected to another case we've been working, so my director wants me to go up and sort it out."

"You'd rather be in Maine than the Caribbean?" Tony asked.

Borin smirked. "Not really. But an active case takes precedence over a cold one, so I've got to pull the pin on Borin and DiNozzo's excellent adventure." She paused and looked around the empty bullpen. "Where's Gibbs?"

"Meeting with Vance," Ziva told her. "He could be a while."

Borin turned her wrist to look at her watch. "I have to get back. Can I leave it to you two to break the bad news?"

"Is this still a joint case?" Tony asked.

"Of course."

Tony looked at Ziva with a knowing look. "What're the odds that Gibbs lobbies Vance to cut the trip entirely?"

"High," Ziva replied, and looked at Borin. "We will tell him."

Borin gave them a little salute and backed up towards the elevator. "Keep me in the loop, okay? Tell Gibbs to call me if he wants someone to yell at."

"Just for this? Or is that an open invitation?" Tony asked hopefully.

Borin grinned but shook her head. "I don't have time to be his sounding board, DiNozzo." She turned again and left, and Tony and Ziva looked at each other.

"I was kind of coming around to the idea of a cruise," Tony said ruefully. "The sun part, anyway."

Ziva patted his shoulder briefly. "There, there," she said insincerely.

"I guess now we start pulling in all the major players that we know of for questioning."

Ziva crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one foot, and then stared at a spot on his chest. Tony recognized this as 'thinking mode', and had enough sense to stay quiet while she formed her thought.

"What will the penalty be?" she finally asked.

He tried, but couldn't follow her line of thought. "Penalty for…?"

"Cancelling the cruise the day before you are supposed to depart."

Tony's eyes flittered around the room, as if he might find the answer on the orange walls. He didn't. "I don't know. We'll probably forfeit some of the cost."

She pursed her lips, and then turned and went back to her desk. "I think it is likely that we will forfeit 100 per cent of the cost," she said.

Tony shrugged. "Maybe. Or we'll get a credit, but that's not exactly useful for a government agency. I guess that's for the travel team to work out."

"Haven't they sorted everything out yet, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked as he returned to the bullpen, Vance in tow.

Tony looked up at him, and then stood up straight when he noticed that Vance was in tow. "Yes, boss. But we've hit a snag. Borin just came by to let us know she's been pulled in on an active case. She's not available for undercover anymore."

Gibbs stopped walking when he was level with Tony, and stared at him in demand for an explanation. Tony didn't have any more of an explanation to give.

"Uh, she said you should call her if you need to yell at someone," he said, and then gestured at Ziva. "We were just talking about cancelling the cruise and pulling Paulson and the others in for questioning."

"Why cancel?" Vance asked.

Tony glanced at Gibbs. Bright blue eyes narrowed in warning, and Tony felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. Gibbs clearly did not want the cruise to go ahead. It was the same position he'd had all week, and, as Tony and Ziva had suspected, this was a perfect opportunity to shut the operation down. But on the other hand…

"Agent DiNozzo?" Vance prompted.

Tony sent Gibbs a brief look of apology and then turned to Vance. "I guess we were thinking along budgetary lines," he said, and glanced at Gibbs as he walked to his desk in a huff. "But Ziva was just checking out how much of the cost we'd forfeit if we cancelled today for tomorrow's departure."

Vance swung his head around to look at Ziva. "And?"

Ziva shot a nervous glance at Gibbs before replying. "Terms and conditions say 100 per cent," she replied.

Vance nodded. "So we may as well go ahead with it," he said. He took two steps over so he was standing right in front of Ziva's desk. "Any reason you can't go?"

Tony watched as Ziva tried to control her expression. She may have passed Vance's inspection, but to Tony it looked like she was about to either laugh in his face or pitch a fit. But she kept her cool.

"Me? No. If Gibbs would agree to—"

"Then you'll go," Vance cut in, knowing full well that Gibbs wouldn't agree, but unable to find the ability to care. "Get on to travel to make the change ASAP. Then go talk to Ms Sciuto to get your documents sorted out." He paused and swung his head between her and Tony. "I assume you two can come up with a believable back story in the next 20 hours?"

There was the hint of a smirk on his face that Tony wasn't sure how he felt about, but he and Ziva both nodded.

"Easy," he said, just as Ziva replied, "Yes, sir."

"Excellent." He crossed to Gibbs' desk as Gibbs held out a Post It note and peeled it off the team leader's finger. "Thank you. Best of luck, agents. I'm counting on you to make an arrest." He threw them a final, knowing smirk and then left the bullpen.

The silence that followed was, in a word, awkward.

Tony kept his eyes on the floor as he slinked back to his seat, and then positioned his head behind his computer monitor and out of Gibbs' field of view before looking over at Ziva. His partner's eyes were glued to her monitor and her face was as straight as she could make it go. But her fingers flew over her keyboard, and Tony assumed she was composing an urgent email to the travel department about their change in plans. After five painful minutes of silence, Gibbs pushed his chair back and stood, and then practically stomped out of the bullpen. Tony kept his eyes on his computer as he listened for the ding of the elevator, but didn't open his mouth until he was sure the doors had closed and Gibbs was at least a floor away from them.

"So, he's upset," Tony said, and looked across at Ziva.

Ziva broke into a wide smile before reeling it in again. "So it seems."

"You think he's going to call Borin and scream at her?"

Ziva shook her head. "He does not have the guts."

Tony considered that. Gibbs wasn't the kind of man who was easily intimidated. But Borin wasn't the kind of woman who would give even two seconds' attention to a tantrum.

"The flight to Miami leaves at 0700?" Ziva checked with him.

"Yeah. I'll pick you up?" He paused and then smiled. "This sounds familiar."

"Hopefully we will not encounter Luis Zapata on the cruise," Ziva said.

"That would be bad luck," Tony said. Although he doubted that even the reappearance of the odious Luis Zapata would dampen his mood right now. He was about to embark on an eight-day Caribbean cruise with a bikini-clad Ziva. The only thing that could bring him down is if Gibbs decided to come too.

…

"You're going _too?_ "

If he was trying not to whine, McGee was doing a bad job of it. Because she liked him, Ziva gave him a sympathetic smile instead of rolling her eyes and telling him to get over it. And she knew where his frustration came from. She and Tony did undercover work far more than McGee did, and she knew he felt left out. But they all had their strengths, and McGee's was not related to maintaining cover in stressful situations. He was more analytical. Better skilled to quickly synthesizing complex information and turning it into something they could use, or connecting it to the larger picture to make everything much smaller and digestible. And those skills were vital to their team, but they didn't require him to dress up, pretend to be someone else and read people on the fly.

"Tough break, McGee," Tony said, and cuffed him on the shoulder. "Maybe next time."

McGee glared and pursed his lips. That was unlikely, and they all knew it. He looked at Ziva. "How much would I have to give you to make you throw him overboard?"

Ziva pretended to weigh that up. "You have not brought in any of that coffee cake from the bakery near your house in a while."

Tony leaned back against his filing cabinet and crossed his arms over his chest. "You'd kill me for coffee cake?"

Ziva lifted a shoulder. "It is very good coffee cake."

"I brought you éclairs this morning," he reminded her.

"They were good too."

"Is it true?" Abby asked as she trotted into the bullpen, chains on her clothing and around her neck jangling. "Is all the magic I worked on Borin's documents in vain?"

She looked upset, so Ziva tried to smooth it over. "Nothing is ever in vain, Abby," she said, but she wasn't surprised when she got three looks of doubt in return. She returned to her desk and let Tony take over.

"Borin was called out on an active case," he explained soothingly, but somehow without sounding condescending. "So Ziva's stepping in. But the good news is that you don't have to do a bunch of identity documents for her because she already has half a dozen ready to go."

"That's true," Abby said, calming down.

"Plus you don't have to Photoshop pictures of them together because we already have, like, a thousand," McGee shot in.

Ziva gave him a warning look—that was nowhere near true—but Tony just shrugged and said, "We're photogenic."

Abby looked at McGee. "Guess you don't have to worry so much anymore about Tony selling his cover."

McGee opened his mouth to reply, but Tony was on her in a millisecond. "Why would I have trouble selling my cover? I'm great at undercover. I spent months undercover infiltrating a mafia family and they never suspected a thing. I got _Ned Dorneget_ through undercover!"

Abby took half a step back. "Okay, you're great at undercover."

He also spent months undercover infiltrating a French arms dealer to great success, Ziva thought to herself. But she was hardly going to bring that up as evidence.

"Undercover with Borin would've been a piece of cake," Tony said. "Undercover with Ziva? I barely need to prepare."

"You will," Ziva said firmly.

"But of course I will," Tony added easily.

Abby shared a knowing look with McGee that didn't sit well with Ziva. It hadn't escaped her that just last night she and Tony had agreed to talk about things when he returned from the Caribbean. But now she'd be taking that trip to the Caribbean with him, and they'd be undercover as newlyweds. The problem here was not that they wouldn't be able to sell the cover. The problem was that they might end up taking it too far. And if the looks on Abby and McGee's faces were anything to go by, she wasn't the only one who thought so.

McGee's computer let out a beep, and he looked at his screen for a moment before letting out a thoughtful, "Hmm."

"Is that an important _hmm?_ " Tony asked. "Or a _hmm, there's a half off sale at Old Navy?_ "

"Depends on whether you think that Oscar McCarthy making contact with John Paulson is important," McGee said.

"Who's Oscar McCarthy?" Abby asked as Ziva and Tony got to their feet and slipped in behind McGee at his desk.

"A friend of John Paulson's," McGee told her. "He owns a boat charter business in Key West. I set up a program to alert me whenever any of the principle players in all this, or interesting looking people on the fringes got in contact with each other on Facebook."

"And they just did?" Abby asked.

McGee nodded. "Oscar McCarthy just posted on John Paulson's wall."

"We're all set, buddy," Ziva read aloud. "See you in the Keys in a few."

"What does that mean?" Abby wanted to know.

"Maybe nothing," McGee said.

"But maybe something," Tony added. "A private charter boat business could be pretty helpful if you're trying to move drugs."

Ziva looked across at him. "I think Oscar just became a principle player."

* * *

After today's news, I am bereft. Insert glass case of emotion gif here. So I guess I'll get you guys Tony and Ziva on a cruise ship, and then I'll jump overboard and just try to leave everything there forever. [sobs for eternity]


	10. Chapter 10

The last time Tony had been on a cruise ship was so long ago that Ziva hadn't even been born yet. It wasn't too hard to accept, then, that he couldn't remember what the check-in process back then had been like, and how it compared to the embarkation agony they'd been through today. If he had to guess, he would say it couldn't. Back in the 70s, cruise liners didn't carry as many people, and the security was about as tight as a kaftan on a hippie. Today, Tony and Ziva had been just two of 3,000 others who'd been scanned, interrogated and cavity-searched (maybe not the last one) before embarking. All up, it had taken them about four hours from arriving at the cruise ship terminal in Ft Lauderdale to get on board, roughly three hours longer than Tony had perhaps naively expected. He was tempted to take the glass of champagne that had been offered to them when they stepped on board to take the edge off his mood. But the subtle shake of Ziva's head changed his mind. They were on duty, and that meant no drinking until they were back in DC and the case was closed.

Instead of heading to their room, they joined the crowds of people heading up to the pool deck for the sail away party. They were eager to get eyes on the Paulsons and Roses and insert themselves into their little friendship group, but it was proving difficult to locate any of them amongst the thousands of other people walking around. They briefly considered splitting up to cover more ground, but a quick glance around the deck was enough to tell them that it would probably make them stick out. Every other passenger was in a couple. Or a group. The lone people walking around ended up with at least one other person. This cruise was not a place for singles. And it certainly wasn't a place for singles to stand around taking photos of groups of passengers they'd never met as they looked for six specific faces. So they stuck together and ambled slowly but with purpose all the way along the deck, keeping their eyes peeled for the Paulsons while trying to make it look like they were checking out the pools, the bars and the ocean. By the time they made it to the ship's stern they hadn't had any luck.

They leaned casually against the railing overlooking the back of the ship, and Tony looked down at his partner. The wind was blowing from behind her, giving her a face full of hair that she couldn't tame even with both hands, so he moved around to the other side of her. When she looked up at him this time, face into the wind, he could actually see her features.

"Thank you," she said.

Tony nodded and then gestured around them at the crowd. "Maybe the Paulsons are already in the buffet line," he said quietly.

"Or on one of the upper decks," Ziva said.

Tony tilted his head back and squinted through the late afternoon sunshine to look at the ship towering above them. "So many decks," he sighed. "It's going to be a difficult location for two of us to keep under surveillance," he said.

Ziva looked over her shoulder at him with a playful smirk. "You would like Gibbs to be here too, yes?" she teased. "And McGee and Borin…"

"I think _you'd_ like Borin to be here," he countered.

She looked around the deck again. "She is a lot of fun."

"I can be fun," he pointed out.

She sent him a sly smile. "Oh, I do not doubt it."

He smiled, but when he looked around again he felt a little apprehensive. They had spent their last hours at work yesterday looking at deck plans of the ship and memorizing all the walkways between common areas. He'd gotten a sense then of how large the cruise liner was, but his sense had been off. It was _so much_ bigger than he'd expected. Just looking at it made him exhausted. That didn't bode well for the investigation. Maybe he was getting too old for this. Maybe he needed a long vacation. A _real_ vacation. One where he didn't have to pretend to be someone else and investigate a possible murder. He could just spend a week sitting on his couch with a bunch of movies. Or he could go to Fiji and lie on the beach and watch beautiful women in bikinis wander by—

He stopped the thought abruptly as another thought dawned on him. Ziva was a beautiful woman. And she looked amazing in a bikini. And on this cruise, while playing her husband, he should be able to get away with looking at her in said bikini and appreciating the sight without the threat of a fist to his gut.

He smiled to himself and watched her as her eyes scanned the deck. A small, pleasant smile was on her face for the benefit of other passengers, and her almost bare shoulders were golden in the sunlight. He loved those shoulders. Especially the part where they turned into the curve of her neck. He'd built entire fantasies around kissing her there, and had hope that once they got back home they'd have that talk and maybe then he'd find out whether she would make the same noise he imagined she would when he kissed her.

Perhaps sensing his eyes on her, Ziva looked up at him and raised an eyebrow in question. "What?"

Tony smiled, but shook his head. "Nothing," he said, and then leaned in to kiss her cheek softly, just as a smitten husband would. She smelled like coconuts, sunscreen and her regular shampoo, and the combination made his stomach pleasantly tight. When he pulled back, Ziva was smirking at him, although not with malice.

"What was that for?" she asked.

He shrugged and ran his hand down her back. "Fun," he replied.

Ziva smiled, but then cast her eyes over the crowd around them again. "I suppose we may catch sight of them at the safety muster."

Tony nodded. All passengers had to attend a mandatory safety briefing before they headed out to sea. "I think we should hang back on making contact if we do. Thanks to Abby's skills we'll soon know what room they're in, right?"

Ziva looked up at him. "Yes."

"So I think we should head to our room, get our heads around the layout of the ship and then find out what our seating arrangements are for dinner."

Ziva nodded along. "So we can swap to the Paulsons' table. If we casually run into them now and then find ourselves seated with them at dinner…"

"And also charm the pants off them so we're invited into their inner circle for the rest of the trip," Tony threw in.

"Then it may seem fishy," Ziva finished.

"Yeah."

Ziva reached for his hand. "Let's go."

They only had to go down one floor to find their stateroom on deck 14. Paulson and his crew traveled in style, so Tony knew going into this that he and Ziva were likely to be traveling in style too, even though Vance hadn't signed off on sending them first class. He'd looked up the ship online so he had an idea of what to expect. But when he actually saw the room they got, he was taken aback. The room was big. At least 50 per cent bigger than he'd been expecting. There was a living room with a couch, a coffee table and a big television. Off the living room was a separate bedroom with a queen-sized bed dressed in crisp white sheets, another television, a small desk and another armchair. The bathroom was a bit pokey, but only because the cruise line had somehow managed to fit a small bathtub in there. And there was a private balcony running the length of the suite with two sun lounges that directly overlooked the ocean. Everything was decorated in blues and greens and wood painted white, giving the room a relaxing beachy feel.

Tony did a slow walk through the suite, investigating all the little luxuries that had been thrown in, and then met a bewildered-looking Ziva in the living room.

"I feel like we maybe should've dressed up a bit more for this place," he said to her, gesturing at his casual t-shirt and long shorts.

Ziva raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement and turned in a slow circle. "How much is this costing the agency?"

He shook his head quickly. "Let's not focus on that."

They sat down together on the couch with the mini ship map, ship newsletter, excursion pamphlet and their dining assignment spread out on the coffee table in front of them. Tony's eyes scanned over all the information as he tried to work out what to prioritize. Not surprisingly, he was drawn to the one that involved food. He picked up their dining assignment card and scanned it quickly.

"Okay, we've been put on a table with Ned and Carly Myers, Kiko and Nia Ishikawa and Fred and Wilma Bowersby," he read. He paused and looked at Ziva with a delighted grin. "No joke. Fred and Wilma."

Ziva frowned and cocked her head to the side. "What joke?"

"Are you kidding?" he asked in disbelief. "Fred and Wilma? Flintsone?"

"Who are they?"

Tony knew Ziva had a very different upbringing to him. They made allowances for their cultural and age gaps every day. But sometimes he couldn't believe that she was serious with her cluelessness.

"The Flintsones, Ziva," he said, raising his voice a bit as if that would help her understand. "Hanna-Barbera? Cartoon about families living in the stone age? They had a pet dinosaur."

Ziva shook her head slowly. It seemed she had genuinely never heard of Bedrock. "Is it recent?"

"No, it's from the 60s or something."

That piece of information made Ziva give him a look like she couldn't believe he expected her to know about something that came out 50 years ago, and Tony averted his eyes before he started pouting over that age gap. Nine days out of ten, he didn't feel it. But when he did…ouch.

"Okay," he said on a sigh, and got his thoughts back on track. "We're going to find a way to dump Fred and Wilma and get ourselves on a table with the Paulsons, at least."

"I am sure that a nice tip to the maitre d' should do it," Ziva said, and checked the clock on the wall. "We still have a while before dinner." She picked up the ship newsletter. "We will have time to walk some of the routes between the common areas we identified and work out whether they are the fastest."

Tony took the newsletter out of her hands and scanned the front page. "Ooh, buffet's on," he noted, feeling a little tickle at the prospect of the rivers of food ahead of him on the trip.

Ziva seemed less interested, but she refrained from making any comment about his plans to eat his way around the Caribbean. "We should go down and find the maitre d' now," she suggested.

"And maybe grab a burger," Tony threw in. "You know, to blend in with everyone else."

Following the ship's mini map, Tony and Ziva went back up to the pool deck and headed towards the bow of the ship. Along the way they kept their eyes open for the Paulsons and Roses, but mostly they had to carefully weave their way around other passengers who were already drinking heavily and wandering around in swimsuits. The sun lounges and deck chairs were plentiful, the shade umbrellas scarce, the music was upbeat and the cocktails were colorful. Already there were cruise employees on deck getting passengers involved in games—limbo, belly flop competitions, something that involved passing balloons from one person to another using only their knees—and people were dancing, swimming and lounging with gusto as if they'd been waiting to do it for years.

After a few wrong turns, they finally stepped into the foyer area of the formal dining room. The double doors nearest to them were open, so they poked their heads inside and looked for someone to help them. Staff were running around setting up a hundred or more tables, and there was one man standing at the reception area and looking through dozens of staples pieces of paper. He was in a gleaming white blazer, had a gleaming bald dome, and wore a gleaming name badge that said Augusto Acosta, Maitre d'.

"Excuse me, sir?" Ziva said.

Augusto looked up with a friendly smile already in place.

" _Buenos tardes_ ," he greeted. "My name is Augusto Acosta, and how may I help you?"

Ziva reached for Tony's hand and they both turned friendly smiles on him.

"My husband and I were wondering if we could talk to you about changing our seating assignment," Ziva said. "We met a couple while we were in the line to embark and we really hit it off with them. It would be so much fun to have dinner with them."

"Of course," Augusto said. "I'm so pleased to hear you are making friends already. What are your names, _señora?_ "

"Zara and Tom De Luca," Ziva told him. "And the couple is John and Sacha Paulson." She paused and looked back at Tony with a small frown. "Is that right, darling?"

"I think so," Tony said, playing along.

"Ah, the Paulsons!" Augusto exclaimed. "We know them well on the Caribbean Carnivalé. One of my favorite couples. They are always a pleasure to have on board. Good people for the first time cruisers to talk to as well. They know all the islands and the activities. We should pay them, you know?"

Tony chuckled politely and looked at Ziva. She had a serene smile on her face, but her attention was on the dining room beyond. He'd bet $50 that she was memorizing the exits.

"So it's no problem to change?" Tony asked.

"No, no problem," Augusto said. "I will take care of that for you now, Mr De Luca."

"Which table is ours?" he asked.

"It is over near what I call 'the pointy end', Mr De Luca," he said. "By the windows on port side. It's one of our best tables. You will get a beautiful view of the sunset."

"It sounds wonderful," Ziva said, tuning back in. "How often do you think the Paulsons have been aboard your ship?"

Augusto put his fingers to his lips. "Hmm, I am not sure. Perhaps six or seven times? They enjoy themselves immensely."

"They must," Ziva said with a smile. "Do they always travel by themselves?"

"No, they have friends," Augusto told her. "I think they will also be on your table. They are a lovely group. You will enjoy your time with them."

"Thank you so much for your help," Ziva said.

"My pleasure, Mrs De Luca. If there is anything else I can do to make your trip more enjoyable, please let me know."

"There is one thing," Tony said. "Point us towards the buffet?"

Augusto pointed it out on the mini map, and Tony and Ziva left him with thanks.

"That was easy," he commented to her as they stepped back out onto the deck.

Ziva slid her sunglasses down from her head to shield her eyes. "It must not be an unusual request."

They headed towards the bow and found a free space against the railing overlooking the dock. It looked as though all the passengers were now on board, and Tony suspected they'd be setting sail any time now.

Ziva nudged him with her elbow. "Now that we have our table secured, you have to do that thing you do that a lot of people seem to find charming."

Tony wasn't sure if there was a compliment in there or not. "You mean, when I'm my normal wonderful self?"

Ziva scrunched her nose. "No, not that."

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she waved her hand dismissively.

"I mean when you do the talking and smiling thing, but not the overbearing talking thing. Yes?"

Tony stuck his tongue in his cheek and held on to the cutting remark that sprung to mind. "I know how to flirt with people to make them like me, yes," he assured her. She opened her mouth again, but he cut her off. "No, I don't mean flirting in a romantic way. Yes, I know what you're talking about."

Ziva nodded. "Good. You need to do that." She turned her attention back to the dock, but Tony put his arm across the railing in front of her to get her attention. When she looked up at him, he leaned in with a 'charming' smile.

"And you know how there have been fleeting moments in the past when you've been friendly and charming? You need to do that, too."

Ziva blinked at him, and then softened her gaze and slid into a warm smile. She lifted a hand to stroke his cheek. "Of course, darling," she almost purred. "The Paulsons will find us irresistible."

…

By the time Tony and Ziva arrived at the formal dinner that evening, the huge room was already packed with men in tuxedos and women in silk, lace, chiffon and sequins in every color imaginable. Perfume was heavy in the thick, hot air, and people were shouting their conversations to be heard over everyone else. The lighting was low and tables were dressed with pristine white linens, polished silverware and large, colorful bunches of flowers. It was almost like being at an elaborate wedding with a few hundred strangers, and everyone was the bride and groom.

A waiter in red coattails who probably hadn't stopped smiling since passengers embarked greeted them, and led them through the maze of tables towards the 'pointy end' of the ship, as promised by Augusto, the maitre d'. They went single file to allow other cruisers and waiters carrying huge trays laden with drinks to pass, and that gave Tony a reasonable excuse to lag behind Ziva and stare at her bare back that was exposed by her navy blue dress. He pulled cartoonishly at his bow tie. _Mamma mia,_ the woman could wear the hell out of an evening dress.

"Here you are, Mr and Mrs De Luca," the waiter said, sweeping his hand towards their already occupied table. "You'll be sharing your dining experience tonight with the Paulsons and the Roses."

Tony and Ziva plastered big, friendly smiles on their faces as they came face-to-face with their marks. On Tony's left was Sacha Paulson, with shoulder-length tawny curls, light brown eyes and a big smile. Her face was round and she probably collected a lot of friends with her naturally friendly smile. Her emerald green dress was overshadowed by a giant black pendant necklace and matching earrings that Tony was almost positive her husband John, sitting to her left, wouldn't have been confident enough to pick out for her.

John's black dinner suit was a little too big on him, and it seemed strange to Tony that a guy with plenty of disposable income (allegedly) wouldn't get his suits tailored to fit. Perhaps he'd lost weight recently, Tony thought, but he still had the rounded belly of a man in his 40s who'd done his fair share of time at the buffet line. Although perhaps an outdoor one, because the guy's skin was tanned almost to a leather saddle, which contrasted strangely with his sandy blonde hair.

To Ziva's right sat the Roses, Julie and Martin. Julie was closer to Ziva's age than the others, blonde and likely bubbly if her big smile was anything to go by. Her tan looked like it came from a high-end spray bottle, but it looked good against her bright red dress. Tony had the distinct impression that she was up for anything on the promise of a good time, and that seemed to sit in contrast to the careful, guarded smile of her husband.

Like John Paulson, Martin Rose's grey suit didn't quite fit him properly, but Tony didn't think he cared. He had the ageing beefcake body of a former athlete, and the thinning, receding hairline that Tony was beginning to see on McGee.

If Tony had one thing to thank his father for, it was follicular density.

Their dining companions (well, Sacha and Julie, anyway) were so welcoming that it put Tony a little on edge. He shared a very brief look of confirmation with Ziva when he pulled out her chair for her, and he let his hand brush against her bare shoulder as he found his own seat.

"Can I get you champagne to start with?" the waiter asked them.

"And mineral water too, thank you," Ziva said.

"Oh! Are you on a babymoon?" Julie Rose asked, grabbing Ziva's hand across the table.

Tony watched Ziva's mouth fall open, and he couldn't blame her. Talk about a first impression.

"A…babymoon?" Ziva repeated, clearly not understanding the word.

Sacha Paulson waved her hand across the table at her friend, miming smacking her in the face. "Julie! Boundaries!" she warned, but did so with a laugh.

Julie's expression turned utterly apologetic, and the extreme change had Tony wondering whether she was drunk already. "I'm so sorry," she gushed, looking between Tony and Ziva. "I don't even know your names yet and I'm already asking personal questions. I'm Julie, this is my husband Martin. And that's Sacha and John."

"Zara De Luca," Ziva said. "And my husband, Tom."

"Welcome aboard!" Sacha said. "Is this your first time cruising?"

"Yes," Ziva said, and put her hand on Tony's on the tabletop. "It is our first anniversary."

"So many people come cruising for their anniversaries," Julie told them. "And honeymoons. It's like your first test as a married couple. Can you survive being stuck in a room with your new spouse for eight days?" She laughed and then seemed to turn deadly serious. "Some people don't make it. I've seen it more than once."

For the life of him, Tony couldn't work out if this was her sense of humor, or if she was drunk, or if she was being serious. He took a punt and smiled. "Well, we've made it to four years without killing each other, so I think our chances are good."

Ziva turned her head to shoot him a small smile that seemed more Ziva-like than Zara-like, and he realized that his comment was actually honest of their real relationship. And it wasn't hyperbole. There had been one or two moments when things had been very, very close to spiraling out of control. Sure, it wasn't an indicator of a normal, healthy relationship. But it was theirs.

"We must be doing okay, right hon?" John Paulson said, speaking up for the first time since greeting them. He rubbed Sacha's shoulder. "We've done a few in our time."

Sacha smiled at him, but it struck Tony as vaguely dismissive. He filed that away to talk to Ziva about later.

"A few cruises?" he asked.

"Don't know how many," John told them, and he was probably telling the truth. "But plenty. Them too." He nodded at Julie and Martin.

"Oh, have you all met before?" Ziva asked, looking between the couples.

"Old friends," Martin said, staring at John Paulson over the rim of his glass.

"You are all friends who vacation together?" Ziva asked, then looked at Tony with a shy smile. "I think we may have gatecrashed something."

Tony raised his eyebrows in agreement, but Sacha and Julie almost tripped over themselves to reassure them they were welcome.

"Oh, no!" they both cried in unison.

"We love meeting the new cruisers," Sacha told them. "We love showing the Caribbean to them."

Julie leaned a little further over the table. "Have you booked in for any shore tours yet?"

Ziva shook her head. "No, we were a bit disorganized."

"But you seem like the people to talk to about that," Tony added with a smile.

Sacha winked at him, but he was almost certain she wasn't flirting with him. "We can give you some tips. It's important that you take this time to have as much fun as you can away from work."

"Absolutely," Julie agreed. "What do you do, Tom?"

"I'm a physiotherapist, actually," Tony said as the waiter brought them their drinks. "Thanks. Yeah, I work at a small practice in Richmond. See a lot of veterans."

"Oh, that's great!" Julie enthused. "My uncle's a veteran. He went to Vietnam and he came back with a really bad leg. He only started getting physio a couple of years ago, but it's really helped him."

"That's good news," Tony said.

"What about you, Lana?" Sacha asked.

"Zara," Ziva corrected.

Sacha reached across the table for her in apology. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Zara!"

"It's fine," Ziva told her. "I am a languages tutor. Mostly high school and college students."

"Oh? Which language?" Julie asked.

Tony chuckled and looked at Ziva with pride. "All of them," he said.

Ziva shot him a smile. "Some of them," she corrected. "Spanish, Italian, French, Russian, and a working understanding of Portuguese." She'd left out Arabic, Turkish and Hebrew, but mentioning Arabic and Turkish would probably raise unnecessary questions, and her cover identity was not Israeli or Jewish.

The others looked suitably impressed.

"Wow," Julie said. "Most people from around here struggle with two."

"I traveled a lot as a child," Ziva explained. "Lived all over the place."

"They say kids are like sponges when it comes to that stuff," Sacha told Julie.

"And what do you do, Sacha?" Ziva asked.

Sacha reached for her wine glass. "I sell pharmaceuticals. You need anything? Xanax? Oxy-Contin?" Before Ziva even had a chance to react, she laughed and waved her hand. "I'm kidding."

"And how about you, John?" Tony asked.

"I-uh, make custom toys for kids," he said. "Mostly traditional kind of stuff out of wood. Cars, boats, rocking horses. That kind of thing."

"That's quite a talent," Tony said. "How did you get into that?"

"I always liked working with wood," John told him. "I just like the way it feels and smells. When our friends started having kids I started making them toys for their birthdays, and then I made it into a business." He paused and looked at them seriously. "You know, people pay premium prices for one-of-a-kind stuff these days. Especially where we're from."

"Which is where?"

"South Carolina."

"You're a Gamecock?"

Ziva almost choked on her water. "Tom!" she admonished, thinking he was insulting John or being dirty. But Tony smiled at her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"College basketball, sweetcheeks," he told her, and hugged her close enough to kiss her temple.

John and Martin laughed, and Ziva looked like she was going to dig her elbow into Tony's thigh.

"My heart belongs to the Wolverines, actually," John said.

Tony grabbed his chest dramatically. "No. You're _kidding_ me."

John looked at him askew. "Don't tell me…"

"Buckeye," Tony confirmed.

Martin laughed and thumped the table with his hand. "And I was so looking forward to a nice, civil dinner," he said. "It's such a shame that it can now only end in bloodshed."

"Do you play?" John asked Tony, leaning over the table slightly as he got a little more interested in the new pair.

Tony nodded slowly. "Nowhere near as much as I'd like. But once upon a time."

"There's a court up on the sports deck," John told him, and pointed between them and Martin. "Tomorrow morning, let's get a game going."

"Love to," Tony said quickly, and then caught himself. He looked at Ziva. "Oh. Did we have plans?"

Ziva shook her head as the others laughed. "No, darling. You may bond with the menfolk."

Tony smiled at the others. "You're on."

John tipped his glass at Tony before taking a long sip.

"Well, Zara, if you want to have some fun instead of hanging out by yourself, you should join us tomorrow morning," Sacha said.

"We're just drinking by the pool," Julie told her. "But I promise it'll be more fun than basketball."

Ziva smiled, even if in real life she would turn the invitation down cold. "Thank you. That's very kind."

Tony put his hand on the bare skin of Ziva's back, drawing her gaze. He smiled at her like a loving husband and Ziva smiled back. But her read in her eyes the same thing she probably saw in hers: the game was on.

…

Their dinner companions were several bottle of wine and champagne down by the time dessert was brought to the table. Ziva had gone down the predictably 'healthy' route and ordered fresh fruit with lemon sorbet, while Tony had decided it was worth indulging in the chocolate mud cake with raspberry _coulis_ , tempered chocolate shards, brandy ice cream and whipped cream. When his plate was put in front of him, he caught Ziva eyeing it half with disgust, and half with envy. He pointedly moved his plate an inch away from her. There would be no sharing.

So far over dinner they hadn't learned much of value about their suspects, but Tony supposed the dinner was as much about building rapport and trust as it was about finding evidence to convict the group of a crime. And he thought they were doing a pretty good job of that.

"So, why do you keep cruising?" Ziva asked their companions. "What is it about it that you love so much?"

Tony caught the fleeting, dirty look Sacha shot her husband out of the corner of her eye before turning a big smile on Ziva.

"Well, it's the only time me and Julie get time together," Sacha told them, and then leaned forward and stage whispered, "We bring the fellas along so they feel like we're on vacation together, but it's all a ruse for me and Julie to hang out for a bit."

Tony and Ziva laughed appropriately, and so did John and Martin. But there was definitely tension there. And Tony _loved_ it.

John put his hand on Sacha's back. "We actually met on a cruise though, didn't we, hon?" he said. "So cruises hold a special place in our hearts."

"Oh! Which cruise?" Ziva asked.

"Around Mexico," John said, then nodded at Martin. "Marty invited me along at the last minute when another buddy dropped out. I met Sacha on our second night out there."

"Like fate, huh?" Tony offered.

Sacha smiled, but shared a look with Julie that Tony hoped he would never see cross Ziva's face when she thought of him. Julie jumped in.

"How about you two? How did you meet?"

"Well," Tony and Ziva said together, and then they both stopped abruptly and looked at each other. They hadn't actually come up with a story for that. Tony nodded to Ziva.

"You tell it," he said, threading his fingers though hers.

"I was living in Paris, but came to the US to visit my friend Jenny," Ziva said. Tony felt a pang at the name. "I ran into Tom at a gathering of mutual friends, and we spent a rainy evening sharing a bit more of ourselves than either of us probably intended to over pizza and coffee."

Tony couldn't help breaking into a smile at her careful retelling of events. It was close to the truth. Sort of. "She stole a slice of my pizza, actually," he told them. "Really good pizza, too."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Well, I am so terribly sorry about that," she said without bite. "I did bring you a coffee in return." She looked at the others with a smile, but then turned a more honest, Ziva-ish one on him. "I did not know exactly how I felt about him that night, but he certainly left an impression. I left wanting to talk to him again."

Tony raised his eyebrows, wondering if that was true. "That's how everyone feels when they meet me," he said. "And you certainly left an impression yourself."

Ziva smiled and turned her attention back to the others again. "Anyway. I went back to Paris again for a few weeks, but then things changed abruptly and I had to come back to the US to live. We met up again, and…I suppose we have not really left each others' sides since."

Tony laughed knowingly. Yeah, that was the truth.

"Another story of fate," Sacha said, resting her chin on her hand and smiling.

"I do not know about fate," Ziva told her, and smiled at Tony. "But I do feel lucky."

He smiled back, still not sure if it was Ziva or Zara talking, or a combination of the two. He brought their entwined hands up to his mouth and brushed a kiss along the back of her knuckles.

"That's sweet," Julie said. "You know, if it's your anniversary you should renew your vows."

Tony lifted his eyebrows at the left-of-field comment. "What's that?" he asked.

"Oh, that'd be fun!" Sacha said. "To do it at sea. Or on one of the islands. People do it all the time on these cruises. They've got a whole business built around it and they work with people on shore. You should talk to the concierge."

"Her name's Isabelle," Julie continued. "We can take you to talk to her tomorrow. We know her really well and I'm sure we'll be able to get you a great deal."

Before Tony could panic any further, Ziva shut the suggestion down in the most polite way possible.

"You know, the wedding is still so fresh in our minds," she said, and then looked at Tony. "I do not know if renewals are really our thing, are they?"

Tony shook his head. "Not really. My dad used to renew his vows just about every time he reconciled with one of his wives after a huge fight that left them temporarily separated. I get why normal people do it, but I'm personally kind of sour to it."

Ziva jumped in again to back up his lie. "After his renewals earlier this year with Susan and how that all turned out—"

"Divorced three months later," Tony told the others.

"I am not sure I am so keen on them either," Ziva finished.

Tony shrugged at the others. "He's a cad."

Ziva quickly moved the conversation along. "We are interested in hearing about activities on the islands, though. Particularly in Samaná. We had a friend who passed through there on a cruise a few years back and he couldn't stop talking about it."

"Yeah, we're really looking forward to that one," Tony agreed. "He said he picked up some pretty unusual items from some of the local stores."

Even if Tony hadn't been looking for it, he would have noticed the way that all four of their dining companions momentarily dropped their eyes to the table before continuing on as normal.

"Samaná's beautiful," Sacha said. "Do you like being active? You look like you do, Zara. The cruise offers lots of shore excursions like hikes and scuba diving and riding ATVs. Or there's this gorgeous little rollercoaster thing you can ride, or paddleboarding."

"Oh, and there's a beautiful drive you can go on that's over the water and through the middle of mountains," Julie added. "Stunning."

"Well, what do you do when you're there?" Tony asked.

Again, eyes shifted to the table and around at each other while smiles stayed firmly in place.

"We have friends there," John said.

When no one offered anything else, Tony said, "Oh, they live in Samaná?"

Again, John was the one who responded. "Yeah. We just spend our time catching up with them."

"Are they originally from the Dominican Republic?' Ziva asked. "Or just lucky enough to settle there later in life?"

"They're from the States," John said. "I guess the lifestyle appealed." He gave them a tight smile that, coupled with his clipped tone, told them that he wasn't interested in saying more. Tony was going to keep up with the questions anyway, but Julie cut in and changed the subject.

"What about the other islands?" she asked. "St Croix is a favorite of mine. And Haiti. I mean I usually just lie on the beach or swim, but on our last trip Sacha and I went jet skiing." She looked at her friend. "Remember that, Sash? We were cruising out to sea like action heroes, and then you did that quick turn and I went flying through the air!"

As the two of them continued to laugh and share stories of their previous trips, Tony and Ziva nodded and laughed along. At some point, once their dessert plates were cleared, John and Martin got into their own private discussion that Tony couldn't hear. They seemed happier to be talking to each other than they had been all night, and as they and their wives drank more and more and got messier and messier, Tony and Ziva nodded to one another in mutual agreement to call it a night. They were the sober people at the party now, and not only was it no longer any fun, but they weren't going to get anything else of value out of either couple. At 11 pm they reconfirmed their plans to catch up again tomorrow, and then said goodnight to their new friends. Tony had no doubt that all four of them would party on well into the night.

…

By the end of the night, all Tony wanted to do was take off his suit, get into bed and sleep off the pain in his overly full stomach. But first, they had to debrief. He sat on the end of the bed and dropped his tired head into his hands.

"Okay," he said as Ziva moved around him. "I'm not a hundred per cent sure that I know what happened out there tonight." He looked up at Ziva as she pulled a piece of clothing out of the cupboard. "First of all, the men barely speak."

"You spoke," Ziva said, smiling at him over her shoulder.

"And you didn't," he countered. "Not much. We're the opposite of all them."

"Yes."

"And those women talked a lot about themselves," he went on. "Which, in my past experience with drug dealers, is unusual."

"I thought so," Ziva agreed, and then walked into the bathroom. She left the door open, so Tony took that as an invitation to keep talking.

"What they didn't say in so many words was that they both hate their husbands," he called to her. He toed off his shoes and pulled off his socks, and then got up to get his pajama pants out of the cupboard.

"Hate is a strong word," Ziva replied. "But there does appear to be fractures in both relationships."

Tony hung up his suit jacket and took off his shirt. "I think that's where we should focus our efforts."

"I agree. I will try to find out more about that tomorrow while we sit by the pool and drink cocktails." She didn't sound as though she was looking forward to the get together, and Tony had to smile. Ziva wasn't good at sitting still during an investigation.

"Wear sunscreen," he reminded her. He took off his suit pants and stepped into his pajamas, and made a half-hearted effort to hang up the rest of his discarded clothes before going back to bed and stretching out on top of the covers.

Ziva stepped out of the bathroom in a bright blue tank top and grey shorts, and all her make up from earlier had been removed. Tony smiled, but it stalled on his lips when she stood at the end of the bed with her hand on her hip.

"And what the hell is a _babymoon?_ "

His grin widened. "It's like a honeymoon. Except instead of having it after a wedding, you have it before the baby arrives and your lives together change into something unrecognizable."

Ziva gave him one of her more typical frowns. "And this is supposed to be romantic?"

Tony bent an arm back behind his head and shrugged. "I don't know. I've never had one."

She smirked at the comment. "Good to know." She took a step back to the bathroom to snap off the light and crossed back over to the bed. "It is a made up thing, yes?"

"I suppose. Aren't honeymoons made up things?"

"You have a point." She stepped towards the lounge area before stopping and turning back to him. She put her hand on her stomach and then pointed to him as if she was lecturing him. "I _do not_ look pregnant."

Tony shook his head quickly. "Not even a little bit," he replied automatically. "It was the drinking water instead of champagne thing, Ziva. You just threw her off."

Ziva nodded, satisfied, and moved into the living area. When she returned she was carrying their laptop. Tony groaned to himself. More work. He knew it was coming and she was right to make them do it now. He just wished they could do it in his sleep.

"All right, let's do this quick. Dot points only," Tony said, and then started to dictate. "Food's amazing. Room's great. They left us towels folded into little elephants, which was cool."

"Tony," Ziva admonished lightly. "I really think we should lead with the waterslide that bends over the side of the ship."

He grinned at her playing along. She sat down on the mattress, crossed her legs and rested the laptop on the mattress in front of her. Tony turned on his side towards her so he could see the screen.

"Sacha and Julie hate their husbands," he said. "Their husbands know this, but I get the impression that John is the only one who cares."

"Martin was certainly indifferent," Ziva said as she typed. "John at least attempted to show affection to Sacha. I did not see any such attempt between Martin and Julie."

"They have friends in Samaná," Tony said, moving on. He waited for her to type that, but she was still on the first dot point. "Dot points are supposed to be brief, Ziva."

"But investigating is supposed to be thorough, Tony," she returned.

He pressed his lips together and waited patiently for her to finish her point and move on. "They have friends—" he started to repeat, but she cut him off.

"Got it," she said. "Americans."

"I wonder if they are another husband and wife team who hate each other," Tony said.

Ziva shrugged a shoulder. "Marriage seems to make all these people angry," she said. "Or perhaps it is being involved in drug smuggling. Illegal activity is stressful."

Tony nodded in agreement. So was policing illegal activity. "What else? We've got dates tomorrow. That should be fun."

Ziva snorted. "That remains to be seen." She glanced at him as she typed. "You know, I think we did very well to be asked to join them."

"Tom and Zara are very likeable," Tony said. "Nice work on the meeting story. I can't believe we didn't think of that."

A small smile pulled at her lips, but she kept her eyes on the screen. "Close enough to the truth is the best lie."

"So you really did want to talk to me again after that night in the rain?" he flirted.

"Of course," Ziva replied easily. "You had gathered information about what I was doing. I needed to know how much you knew."

Tony rolled his eyes, because that was a completely predictable response from her. And he didn't take the slightest bit of offence. "You're a hell of a romantic, Ziva."

She gave him a wink, then finished typing her notes. She hit send on the email to McGee, Gibbs and Borin, then shut the computer down and took it back into the safe in the living area. On her way back she flipped off the lights, leaving on the lamps over the bed on. Tony stayed on top of the covers as she pulled back her side and climbed in.

"I meant to say, I was so sorry to hear of your father's divorce from Susan," she said.

Tony laughed at the lie they'd spun. "I know. I thought she was the one. But I'm sure he'll be over it by Christmas and will have moved on to someone else."

She smiled. "So, tomorrow. I think I will press Sacha and Julie on their marital problems. If they are angry, it will be easier to get them to say something they should not."

Tony nodded. "Yeah, agreed. And I'll try to get a name for their American friend in Samaná." He eyed her. "You'd better hope your friends don't drink through the day like they did through tonight."

"If they are drunk, that will loosen their lips even more," Ziva pointed out. She sighed. "I have a feeling that once this cruise is over, I will need many, many cocktails to get over it."

Tony grinned at the prospect. "Ziva, I am definitely going to hold you to that."

* * *

Yeah. They're finally on the cruise. Give yourself a pat on the back if you made it this far.


	11. Chapter 11

The Caribbean Carnivalé wasn't due to dock in its first port in Haiti until the following day, so Tony and Ziva had a full day of cruising and hopefully investigating their suspects ahead of them. After a slow and casual breakfast during which Tony tried not to gorge on pancakes, waffles, bacon and eggs, and Ziva tried not to be too annoyed by how slow and casual the meal was when there was work to be done, they split up and went in search of their new cruise buddies. Ziva had a feeling that she would have a lot more success getting information from her marks than Tony would. While her usual methods of extracting information from people was unlikely to go over well in polite company and in broad daylight in front of thousands of witnesses, Sacha and Julie had proven themselves the night before to be prolific talkers. Not even Tony talked as much as they did. Ziva doubted that she would have to do much at all to get them to say something useful. And if she did have to work at it, chances were good that the Paulsons and Roses were not actually involved in anything illegal at all, and Will and Alicia Crawford had been completely mistaken about what they'd seen.

The pool deck was predictably crowded when Ziva arrived. The day was already hot under a cloudless sky, and cruisers were laid out on sun lounges, soaking up the heat like strips of bacon on a grill. Most of the few hundred people in Ziva's view were dressed in swimwear or resort wear showing off bodies of all colors and shapes with abandon. Upbeat music was being pumped through hidden speakers, drinks were being served by the dozen, and there was so much activity, from swimming to rock climbing, zip lines and water slides, limbo competitions and dance classes that Ziva initially found it hard to focus on anything.

She forged ahead, side-stepping wet and giggling kids running around and small groups of people in their 20s roaming around with drinks in their hands until she finally caught sight of Sacha and Julie sitting at a table under an umbrella and within about five paces of a bar. Sacha was wearing large tortoiseshell sunglasses and a big white hat. _Trés_ cruise-y.

Ziva approached the women with a put-on meek smile until Sacha looked up and saw her. Ziva gave her a little wave, and Sacha gave her a wide, welcoming smile.

"Zara!" she called. "Come join us!"

"Am I interrupting?" she asked.

"Of course not, have a seat," Julie said.

"Great to see you again," Sacha said with a seemingly genuine smile.

"Thank you," Ziva said as she took a seat. Once again she was struck by how welcoming these alleged drug smugglers and murderers were. It made her anxious.

"How was your first night?" Sacha asked her as she played with the straw sticking out of her cocktail. Ziva had no idea how long they'd been there already, but each had an empty glass and a full one in front of them.

"Good," Ziva replied. "I slept very well."

Sacha's face fell. "Oh. You slept? That's a shame."

Ziva stared at her for a moment as Sacha and Julie laughed, and she tried to understand what she was talking about. When she caught on, she was disappointed in herself when she felt her cheeks warm. "Oh! Well, we did _that_ too. I was just trying to be polite."

"No need," Julie told her. "It's nice to see you two enjoy each other's company." She put her hand on Ziva's.

"How do you like it so far?" Sacha asked her.

"We are amazed by the size of the ship, and how much there is to do," Ziva said. "I was worried we would get bored."

"No, they make sure there's always something on for everyone," Julie said.

"So it seems." Ziva looked between them. "Do you have other plans for the day?"

Sacha and Julie laughed together.

"We're doing it, honey," Sacha said, and tipped her drink at her. "A day by the pool with some drinks and good company. I do have a massage looked for later, though." She looked at Julie. "Penny's back on this cruise."

"That's good news," Julie said. "I've got a crick in my neck after last night. Martin passed out as soon as we got in last night and took up most of the bed. I couldn't move him."

"I would have loved for John to pass out," Sacha said. "He was tossing and turning, and when he wasn't doing that he was snoring in my ear."

"If I ever go on another cruise, I'm getting a room to myself," Julie told them.

Sacha pointed at her with her drink. "That's a good idea."

"If you ever go on another cruise?" Ziva repeated. "I thought that would be likely for a cruise veteran like you. Are you planning to take another trip this year?"

Although they didn't sigh, Ziva felt the weight of both women exhaling with exhaustion.

"I don't know," Julie replied. "We love cruising, honestly. Me and Sacha have been talking about going somewhere else next time."

"Oh?"

"Maybe somewhere on land this time," Julie chuckled. "Europe?"

"That is quite the change," Ziva said. "Are you sick of sunshine and palm trees?"

"No," Sacha said, and picked up her drink. "Just sick of our husbands' adventures." She shot Ziva a quick smile and downed the rest of her drink in one go.

Ziva kept her pleasant smile in place as her mind started racing. "Do they enjoy themselves a little too much?" she asked with a light laugh.

"No," Julie said as she tried to work out how to phrase her answer. "They just seem to forget that it's supposed to be a vacation with us."

Ziva tried to smile knowingly. "Tom can get a little caught up with his friends when he is with them, too," she said, trying to lead them to share a little more about them men's relationship.

Sacha put her hand out. "Oh, Zara. Honey. You might have your problems, all couples do. But it's been years since John looked at me the way you and Tom were looking at each other last night." She held up her finger. "Now, we've been together a long time, so I don't expect to be drunk with passion every night. But a little attention wouldn't go astray."

"Yeah, it would be great if Marty listened to me when I talked these days," Julie said. "Or looked at me when he talked to me."

"I just want John to remember what fun is," Sacha added. "He's focused on work all the time. It's so boring." She leaned in to Ziva and whispered, "We haven't had sex in years."

"I'm sorry," Ziva said, at a loss for what else to say in response. "Does he work even when you are cruising?"

Sacha shot her a quick smile. "Trust me. He'll do business on this trip."

Before Ziva could enquire about the kind of business a toy maker would do on a cruise through the Caribbean, Julie piped up again.

"It'll be good to see Nadine," she said. "I need the special kind of Zen she brings to things."

"I'm tempted to stay with her for a few days and then meet the ship in Key West," Sacha said, and then muttered, "If only John wouldn't kill me."

"Who is Nadine?" Ziva asked.

"A friend of ours," Sacha said. "She and her husband live in Samaná."

"Oh, you mentioned them last night," Ziva recalled. "You said they moved there from the States?"

Sacha finished her drink. "Yeah, but they've moved around a lot. A bit like you. They met in the Peace Corps, if you can believe it." She chuckled, and frankly, Ziva didn't believe it. But Sacha continued. "They were building a village in Africa and fell in love there."

Ziva raised her eyebrows. "I did not know that the Peace Corps still existed."

Sacha shrugged. "This was back in the 80s."

"Then they sold out," Julie threw in with a smile, and Ziva got the feeling that was something the friends teased each other about a lot. "Well, Rodney did. He spent about 15 years at this big corporate law firm in D.C. before they moved out here."

"He is a lawyer?"

"Yeah, they both are," Julie said. "Or were, before they moved out here. But Nadine was never in a courtroom. She used to work for the EPA. Still trying to save the world."

"Right, and that's why they moved to the Dominican Republic," Sacha told her. "They spend their days working on protecting the natural habitat."

"Really?" Ziva said, holding back her frown. Building villages in Africa and protecting the environment in the Dominican Republic wasn't exactly behavior that aligned with dealing cocaine and killing people. Unless the environmental work they did involved harvesting coca leaves.

"They're living their dream," Sacha said. "They're so happy I could puke."

"You're just jealous," Julie accused, and Sacha nodded easily.

"Yes, completely." Sacha looked at Ziva. "I dream about running away to join the circus. Or moving to Fiji. Whichever is easier."

"So, why don't you?" Ziva asked.

Sacha shared a look with her friend before smiling at Ziva. "Business," she said.

Again, before Ziva could ask more questions, Julie piped up. She seemed to be good at that.

"I think we should definitely try to get to Europe for Christmas, though," she said, and then looked at Ziva. "You said you had lived in Paris, Zara?"

"Yes, for a while," she said. "It is a beautiful city."

"Is it true that they're rude if you don't speak French?" Julie asked.

Ziva shook her head, but Sacha and Julie's attention had already wandered. They broke into smiles at almost the exact same moment as they looked behind her, and Julie waved.

"Hey, Herschelle!"

Ziva twisted to look over her shoulder at a very tall man, thin but muscular and dressed in crew uniform approach them.

"Finally, my favorite ladies are back on board," Herschelle said as he joined them, flashing a wide, white smile. He had a slight South African accent.

"Couldn't stay away," Julie said. "Not when the company and the view is so good."

Herschelle looked at Ziva. "And you have made a new friend," he said. "Welcome aboard the Caribbean Carnivalé, ma'am. My name is Herschelle, I am part of the entertainment crew, and I'm here to make sure you have the time of your life on board."

"No easy feat," Ziva said with a smile. "I am Zara De Luca."

"Are you enjoying your trip so far?" he asked.

"Very much. Thank you."

He gestured at Ziva's companions. "You have found the right friends to share your trip with," he said. "You will not need me for suggestions for activities. These two know it all, although we do try to change things up so that members of our cruise family who visit us regularly will always have something fresh to enjoy."

"You've got a belly dancing class this time around," Sacha commented.

Herschelle winked at her. "I know you like to keep your core tight, Mrs Paulson."

Ziva swore Sacha blushed slightly at the comment, and it left her wondering whether they were just flirting innocently with each other or if there was something more there.

"Are you taking any shore excursions this time, ladies?" Herschelle asked. "We have added a zip line adventure in Haiti."

"That sounds fun!" Julie said.

"And what about Samaná?" Herschelle asked. "You have not taken a tour of the city for a while."

"We'll be visiting our friends again," Sacha told him.

Ziva watched as Herschelle's eyes flicked between Sacha and Julie, but he smiled and nodded casually. "Of course. You have good friends. Let me know if you change your mind, though." He looked off to the pool area. "Excuse me, ladies. I must help organize the belly flop competition. But I will come by again later and check in." He left them with another dazzling smile.

Sacha fanned herself as soon as Herschelle's back was turned. "That man just gets better and better," she said. "And he sure knows what fun is."

"Off limits," Julie reminded her.

"Of course," Sacha said. "But a girl can look. Right, Zara?"

"Of course," Ziva said with a smile. And look, she would. Into Herschelle's past, his relationship with Sacha, and any involvement he might have with the group's friends in Samaná. Because although Ziva didn't have a clue what was really happening on shore, she had a feeling in her gut that Herschelle knew something about it.

…

After three hours of cocktails (mocktails for Ziva, sadly) and conversation with 'the girls', Ziva was pleased to return to the empty silence of their stateroom. She had gathered plenty of information that she hoped would be useful to the investigation, so the morning had not been a total waste of time. And she did enjoy getting back into undercover work. She just wished that it involved a little less fake smiling and fake laughing.

She got the laptop out of the safe and moved to the couch to begin typing up her notes. She had half a page of intel and questions down when she heard the door click open. She looked up to see Tony drag himself through the door with a grimace, and she was torn between laughing and offering sympathy.

"Did you have a nice time playing with your new friends?" she asked.

Tony glanced at her with the ghost of a smile, suggesting that he wasn't bothered by her ribbing of him, but then continued on through to the bedroom. He disappeared out of sight just before she heard him hit the bed and let out a groan. Ziva leaned sideways over the arm of the couch to try to see if he was okay, but she couldn't see him. She stood up, laptop in hand, and went after him.

"Are you all right?" she asked, flipping to sympathy when she saw him sprawled out face-first on the mattress. His feet were hanging over the end of the bed, his eyes were closed, and she wondered if he had fallen asleep already. But he managed to nod.

"Uh-huh," he grunted at her, the sound muffled slightly by the mattress. "It was a hard-fought victory. But still a victory."

Ziva sat on the corner of the bed and swung around so she was facing him. She put the laptop down in front of her crossed legs. "Well. Congratulations," she offered.

Tony managed a thumbs up. Ziva smiled to herself.

"Do you need water, or…muscle relaxants?"

"Massage?" he suggested, lifting one eyebrow hopefully.

"I seem to recall that you did not appreciate my last attempt at that," she reminded him.

His eye popped open but it took a moment for him to find her. "That wasn't a massage," he pointed out. "That was a Vulcan Nerve Grip."

"Well, you did imply that you could do better than me," she said.

Tony closed his eye again. "I'd only known you a few weeks," he said with far more honesty than Ziva had been expecting during what had been a fairly light conversation to that point. She didn't quite know what to say to that, so she didn't address it at all.

"Did you find out anything useful?" she asked.

"They didn't want to talk about much but the game," Tony said. "But I think John and Martin are in really unhappy marriages. They were sort of complaining about having to go and check in with their wives after the game, but I also got the feeling that they didn't like being at odds with them. And I don't mean that they're afraid of their wives being angry with them. I mean I think they genuinely wish things were better."

"Their wives may be interested to hear that," Ziva commented. "I spent the whole morning listening to Sacha and Julie complain that their husbands are no longer interested in anything they do or pay them any attention, and just keep them around for the business." She paused. "That is how they referred to it. The business. The conversation was moving quickly so I did not get a chance to ask them to clarify what they meant."

"It wouldn't be the first time couples stayed together because it was financially advantageous," Tony said.

"It is certainly not for the sex and companionship," Ziva told him, and then couldn't help from adding, "The Paulsons have not had sex in years, apparently."

Tony lifted his head off the mattress to look at her with a frown. "How do you know that?"

"Sacha told me."

Tony looked skeptical. "She just told you?"

Ziva shrugged. "She was complaining about her marriage at the time. Talking about running away to Fiji." She shook her head. "I cannot imagine being in a relationship with someone I did not want to sleep with."

Tony tilted his head to the side just a fraction, enough to tell her that he had a question he really wanted to ask, but which he thought better about asking. He lay down again.

"Hunh," he grunted. "Did you find out anything about the friend in Samaná?"

"Yes. Rodney and Nadine," Ziva told him. "I do not know their surnames. They have apparently lived in Samaná for several years, and officially they do conservation work on the island. They met in the Peace Corps whilst building villages in Africa. Then Rodney became a corporate lawyer and Nadine worked for the EPA before they moved to the Dominican Republic."

Tony slowly pushed himself up and turned over so that he was reclining back against the pillows. "First of all, why didn't you lead with that when I came in?" He didn't leave time for her to answer. "And second, what the hell would land conservation hippies with a background in aid work be doing as part of a drug smuggling ring?"

Ziva raised her eyebrows in agreement. "That is an excellent question, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony rubbed his face and then looked around before grabbing a bottle of water from the bedside table. "I feel faint," he said suddenly. "I'm either about to pass out or I'm just really confused."

"It is probably both," Ziva said, and then got up to go into the bathroom. She ran the faucet and soaked a face washer, and squeezed out the excess water before heading back into the bedroom. "Here," she said, offering it to Tony. "Put it over the back of your neck."

Tony took it with thanks and did as instructed. "This may come as a shock to you, but I'm not 25 anymore."

Ziva let her raised eyebrow make her comment for her, but squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

"Okay," Tony said, gathering his thoughts. "There can't be too many American conservationists named Rodney and Nadine living in Samaná," he said. "McGee can probably do something with that."

Ziva went back to her position on the bed. "I was in the middle of writing it up when you came in. Do you have anything to add?"

"Just that I've still got it," Tony said with a grin, and mimed shooting a basket.

Ziva nodded and smiled, and then finished up her notes without making any reference to Tony's basketball prowess. "There was something else," she said. "One of the entertainment crew members stopped by. He seemed to know them very well. Especially Sacha." She raised her eyebrows at him, communicating the rest of her thought. Tony cocked his head to the side as he received the message.

"Really?" he drawled. "That's very interesting. And may be part of the reason the Paulsons aren't feeling the passion anymore."

"Maybe," Ziva nodded. "But more importantly, Herschelle may also be the crew member assisting our new friends in smuggling drugs aboard the ship."

"Herschelle?"

"I think he is South African."

Tony nodded, and looked a little sheepish. "I'm going to blame the fact that I didn't immediately make the connection between the friendly crew member and the drug smuggling on my clear exhaustion."

"Of course," Ziva said generously. She finished her email and sent it off, then closed the laptop and looked up to see Tony rotating his right shoulder with a wince. "You know, they do have a spa on board," she told him. "You could get a massage from a professional. It would be a bad look for a physiotherapist such as Tom to be in ongoing pain from a basketball game."

"Yeah," he said, but didn't sound convinced. "I was thinking of hitting the other spa. The water kind. I think we've got to be careful about crowding our new friends."

Ziva nodded. "Good idea. We can try to run into them again tonight. I might go for a run."

Tony tilted his head. "Yeah. Or, you could join me. _Honey_."

Ziva stared at him for a moment before she caught on. "We need to be seen together," she stated.

"That would be a good idea."

"And you do not want to go for a run," she guessed.

Tony shook his head. "No, I do not."

She sighed as she got off the bed. "All right. Pool deck today. But you are coming for a run with me tomorrow."

…

As it turned out, their time in the shaded spa on the pool deck was semi-useful. Ziva had always had her doubts about getting into heated, communal water like this—she was sure she had heard stories about people picking up diseases from hot tubs—and when Tony nudged her as soon as she sat down next to him, she assumed he was going to say something to her along the same lines. But when he leaned over to speak in her ear, he instead said something case-related.

"Paulsons and Roses at 10 o'clock," he said, and the brushed a kiss to her cheek in his role as smitten husband.

Ziva ignored the tingles that exploded down the side of her face under his mouth and scanned the area to her left from behind her sunglasses. She eventually found the foursome—surprise, surprise—sitting at one of the outdoor bars. The four of them were laughing, and their body language suggested they were all getting along.

She turned her head towards Tony to murmur back to him. "Are they putting on an unhappy act for us, or a happy act for each other?"

"Both?" Tony suggested. "Human beings are complex creatures, Zi-ara," he corrected himself, and then discreetly looked around to make sure no one had heard his slip up.

"I suppose," she said. She looked around the spa with mild distaste and then looked up at him. "You are not disgusted by this spa situation?"

Tony looked at her and then around at the water as if expecting to see a severed finger bob past them. "Pretty sure they're required to keep it clean," he said. "Or are you suggesting that I should be worried about sharing water with you?"

"I do not believe I am personally carrying any diseases that can be transmitted through water." He looked concerned enough by the comment for Ziva to reassure him. "I am joking. I am not carrying any diseases."

"Hmm," he grunted as he looked out over the deck. "I forget that you do that sometimes."

"I am very funny," she told him without any inflection in her voice. "You just do not understand my dry humor."

"Good thing you're so pretty, then," he fired back.

Ziva knew he was joking with her, but she let him see her roll her eyes anyway. It was what he wanted.

"We had a hot tub when I was growing up," he told her. "I was never allowed in it."

"Why not?"

Tony pursed his lips as he thought about it. "My parents always said it was for grown ups. And I'm just now this second realizing that the hot tub was probably where they got drunk and had sex." He paused and shuddered. "Oh, dear God."

Ziva chuckled as Tony looked around them.

"I'm not convinced it'd be that comfortable," he mused. "Maybe that's why I'm an only child."

"At least they were adventurous," Ziva said, knowing the comment would probably make him squirm. And it did. She grinned at him, but the grin slid off her face when two more people, a man and a woman who frankly could have been aged anywhere from 55 to 70, stepped down into the tub with them. Ziva had to bite her tongue to ask them to get out. It just seemed so… _gross_ to be in a hot tub with strangers. But the couple clearly didn't have the same hang up. They immediately smiled and engaged in conversation.

"Is this your first time?" the woman asked. She had white-gold hair pulled back into a stylish chignon, a gold necklace with an oval pendant around her neck, and impressively sculpted arms and shoulders for not just a woman of her age, but for a woman of Ziva's age.

"Yes," Tony said, taking the lead. "First cruise." It seemed to be the first question that people asked each other on board.

Ziva slid into a smile that hid her discomfort, even if she inched a little closer to Tony. "He is very excited about the shuffleboard," she said.

The couple laughed, and the man, fit and healthy with a flat stomach and a thick, corded neck put his arm around his (presumed) wife's shoulders.

"This really _is_ your first cruise," he said. "Haven't seen shuffleboard since the 80s."

"There's a lot more to do now," the woman said, and then made introductions. "I'm Jolene Derrie. This is my husband, Sterling."

"Tom and Zara De Luca," Tony offered.

"Are you on your honeymoon?" Sterling asked, and it was clear from both their faces that they desperately wanted them to say yes.

"Anniversary," Tony told them. "Our first."

It wasn't exactly the answer they wanted, but it was close enough. "Oh, congratulations!" Jolene said. "Is it a babymoon?"

"No," Ziva said bluntly. If one more person asked her that, she would dislocate their kneecaps.

"Not yet," Tony softened, and then kissed her neck beneath her ear.

Jolene and Sterling hadn't seemed to pick up on Ziva's irritation.

"We went on a cruise for our first anniversary too," Jolene told them.

"It's where our love of cruising began," Sterling continued. "Be careful, or you might catch the bug!"

They'd only been on board for a day, but Ziva was fairly confident that wouldn't happen. "How many cruises have you been on?" she asked.

"This is number 35," Sterling said.

Ziva's mouth fell open. "Excuse me?" she said, just as Tony said, "Are you serious?" It didn't seem possible.

"Twice a year for the last ten years," Jolene said. "And semi-regularly for the 33 years before that."

"Still not nearly enough," Sterling said. "We're thinking of going on one of those ones that take your around the world over six months next year."

There was so much in those statements that Ziva couldn't fathom. She looked at Tony for his take on it, and he seemed as dumbstruck as her.

"Is my math correct?" she began. "Does that mean you have been married for 43 years?"

Jolene and Sterling nodded.

"It'll be 44 years in November," Jolene said, then turned to give her husband a beaming smile. Sterling kissed her cheek.

"Time of my life," he said.

"I think we owe _you_ congratulations," Ziva said.

"Thank you, honey," Jolene said.

"Wow, 44 years, sweetcheeks," Tony said, and took her hand even though they were underwater. "That's something to aim for."

Ziva frowned at him. "We will be dead in 44 years," she pointed out. "Well, perhaps not me. But you probably will be."

Tony gave her an insincere smile, and Ziva regretted her words. "I love your bluntness," he said, and gave her a quick peck on the lips.

"Sorry," she muttered, and turned back to Jolene and Sterling. "I am very impressed that you've managed to cruise so much. Do you work remotely?"

"I had a medical practice," Sterling told her. "Retired now, but was able to leave it in the hands of my associates when we traveled. Jo's an artist."

Ziva's interest rose a little. "Oh? What kind?"

"Portraiture," Jolene said. "Mostly oils, but the occasional pencil or charcoal."

"How lovely," Ziva said sincerely. "I tried to teach myself to draw as a child, but I am afraid I was never very good at it."

"Really?" Tony asked, genuinely surprised. Whether that was over the fact that she'd tried to draw, or that she wasn't good at it, Ziva wasn't sure.

"Yes," she told him. "My mother was very artistic, but I got caught up in my father's, um, sport."

Tony nodded knowingly.

"You should try again," Jolene said. "I find it very calming. Almost meditative."

"You could use that," Tony told her.

"What do you do, Zara?" Sterling asked.

"Languages tutor," Ziva said. She had a feeling she would be repeating that ad nauseum until the end of the trip. _First anniversary, not a babymoon, languages tutor._

As the conversation moved to Tony, Ziva glanced over at the Paulsons and Roses. They were all still talking like they were on good terms, and now Herschelle had rejoined them. Her phone was just arm's reach away, but taking a photo now would be slightly odd. She would have to ask McGee to hack into crew records for his full name, and then see if he had a criminal record that they could access.

She watched the interplay between Herschelle, Sacha and John with interest. Herschelle's hand was on the back of Sacha's chair as he leaned over her shoulder, and Sacha was laughing easily at the conversation. John, however, seemed quietly annoyed. Did he know there was something going on between the two of them? And was it something he was just putting up with as long as Herschelle helped them?

Of course, this was all conjecture at this point. They needed evidence. Solid evidence.

"Zara?"

Ziva turned back at Tony's voice. "I'm so sorry," she said with an apologetic smile. "I was distracted by the wave surfing machine…thing over there."

"I haven't tried that," Jolene laughed. "Part of staying healthy at my age is not putting yourself in danger."

"You know, I don't think we've met anyone on the ship yet who hasn't already been on a few cruises, have we, honey?" Ziva said to Tony.

He shook his head, going along with her. "No, not yet. Certainly the group we had dinner with last night were all on their sixth or seventh."

"And they have done this particular cruise a few times already," Ziva continued. She looked at Sterling and Jolene. "Have you done this one before?"

"A few times," Jolene said. "Who did you have dinner with?"

Ziva smiled at them walking into the conversation she needed from them, but it was Tony who answered.

"The Paulsons. John and…" He paused and looked at Ziva with a frown, pretending to forget. "What was her name?"

"Sacha."

"Right. Sacha."

"And the Roses," Ziva added. "Martin and Julie."

"You're so much better at remembering names," Tony threw in, and wrapped a wet arm around her shoulders.

"Have you met them?" Ziva asked Jolene.

Jolene's smile stayed in place, and so did Sterling's. But they were frozen smiles. Not the natural ones they've been tossing around until now. Ziva felt a shiver go down her spine.

"Yes," Jolene said. "Several times."

"They were very welcoming towards us, weren't they?" Ziva said to Tony.

"Yeah, especially since we felt like we were gatecrashing a dinner between friends," Tony said.

"But they were kind enough to ask us to join them today."

"They're very gregarious," Sterling said. "Always friendly. But I would warn you that John in particular—"

"And Martin," Jolene added.

"And Martin. They have a bit of a…" He trailed off and looked at his wife. "How would you put it?"

"Not mean, exactly," Jolene said. "But if you bother them, you'll know about it."

"Yes," Sterling said with a nod. "Stay on their good side."

The shiver down Ziva's spine turned and ended up as a knot in her stomach. They were on to something here, and they had to fine out what. "Oh?" she said, sounding worried and a bit clueless. "What would put us on his bad side?"

"I'm not sure, really," Jolene said. "Whatever it was, it was probably just a misunderstanding."

Ziva felt Tony squeeze her shoulder.

"What was?" he asked.

Jolene waved her hand. "Oh, there was just a…ruckus a few months back. Another cruiser was attacked—which is very unusual, I assure you—and he seemed to think it was John."

Ziva touched her hand to her chest. "My God!"

"That's terrible," Tony said. "When was that?"

"End of June," Jolene said, making the knot in Ziva's stomach tighten even more. "But I think he was very drunk. It's possible he said something he shouldn't have."

"Right," Ziva said, and glanced at Tony. Ken Klein, the cruiser Ziva and Borin had interviewed a few days ago about his assault—allegedly at the hands of John Paulson—had been on the Caribbean Carnivalé at the end of June. Borin had said his was the most recent assault on board, so it was likely that was the event Jolene was talking about.

"We're not big drinkers," Tony said. "Getting drunk and mouthy probably won't be an issue."

"That's probably smart for a few reasons," Sterling offered, and then changed the subject. "Hey, either of you play golf?"

Ziva let Tony take that conversation, and looked over at the Paulsons and Roses again. Herschelle was gone, and so were Julie and Sacha. But John and Martin remained, and they both looked stressed and slightly angry. Yep, there was definitely something going on with those two. And she was definitely going to get to the bottom of it.

* * *

[shrugs] Thanks for reading.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Little warning for some more adult content towards the end of this chapter, but it's not nearly as explicit as scenes I've written before. It shouldn't offend too many, I don't think. Apologies in advance if it does.**

* * *

After an hour in the spa, Tony and Ziva returned to their cabin with the intention of getting McGee on the line. They had slightly more information courtesy of Sterling and Jolene to share, and while sharing everything via email provided a layer of convenience to the investigation, Tony didn't want the team at home to get the impression that all they were doing was eating, swimming and socializing. Even if that was kind of the truth. _Especially_ since it was kind of the truth. Although Ziva definitely wasn't on board with it.

"Promise me," she began as soon as the door to their cabin was closed, "that you will _never again_ make me sit in communal water with strangers."

Tony smiled at her back as she headed for the safe to get the laptop out again. "What do you call a swimming pool?" he pointed out.

"Chlorinated," she replied. "And there is a lot more room in a swimming pool."

"Ah, so it was the close quarters you objected to," he said, and then bobbed his head from side to side. "It did kind of have an 80s swinger's party vibe to it. But you could do worse than Sterling. That guy was ripped for his age."

Ziva turned to stare at him, laptop in hand, as if she couldn't work out whether he was serious. "I prefer older men," she stated. " _Slightly_ older men. Not…retirees."

Slightly older was good enough for the decade-older Tony. He took a seat on the couch and Ziva sat beside him and sorted out the laptop.

"You have not promised me yet," she said as she booted up.

"Hmm?"

Ziva glanced at him. "I asked you to promise me that you will never make me get in a spa again with strangers."

"I can think of ten other things off the top of my head that you've had to do in this line of work that are way grosser than that," Tony pointed out. "But you're taking issue with the spa?"

"I would rather spend time in Syria," Ziva stated.

Tony believed her. "Okay. I promise that when the choice comes up in the future, I'll take the spa and you can take Syria."

"Deal," she said. She brought up Skype and dialed McGee, and then gasped to herself and quickly got up.

"Where are you going?" he called as she ran to the bedroom.

"I will be right back," she called.

"You need to go pee?" he teased.

"Tony?"

Tony's eyes fell to the laptop screen at the sound of his name. McGee's face had popped up in the video screen, and he looked confused and kind of grossed out. "Oh, hi," Tony said. "How's it going?"

"Fine," McGee said. "How's it going with you?"

"We've made a lot of progress," Tony said, and then looked up at Ziva returning to the couch. She'd covered up her bikini with an ankle-length dress, and while Tony was personally disappointed by the development, he understood it. "Oh, you wanted to put clothes on."

"I thought I would try it out," Ziva returned, and then sat down next to him again. "Hello, McGee."

McGee looked vaguely irritated. "Enjoying yourselves?" he asked.

"Yes," Tony replied, just to mess with him, while Ziva replied, "I had to get into a spa with strangers."

Tony rolled his eyes and sighed. "You're going to have to let go of that, Ziva."

"No, I do not think I do."

"Hey!" Gibbs barked, a moment before he poked his head (halfway) into frame. "Shut up and give me a sit-rep."

Tony opened his mouth to point out the conflict in his statement, but Ziva put her hand on his knee to stop him before he did.

"In addition to the information we sent through this morning," she said, "we have just had a conversation with another couple of repeat cruisers, Sterling and Jolene Derrie. We mentioned to them that we had made friends with the Paulsons and Roses, and they warned us against crossing them."

"Yeah, they said that on their last cruise a man was attacked, and he thought John Paulson was responsible," Tony said.

"The timing of this cruise coincides with the one Ken Klein went on," Ziva told them.

Borin shoved her head into frame from the other side. "Our naked man?" she said.

Tony and Ziva both jumped slightly at her sudden appearance.

"That's him," Tony said, and he wondered how many other people were lurking behind the camera in the bullpen. "They didn't see the attack, so it's hearsay. But it adds to the evidence suggesting that the Paulsons are living outside the law somehow."

McGee moved his head around so that he could be seen between Gibbs and Borin. "You said there was a crew member that you think could be helping them?"

"Herschelle, yes," Ziva said with a nod. "I do not know his surname, but—"

"Phillips," McGee said. "I tracked him down. "He's been working on the Caribbean Carnivalé for the last two and a half years."

"Criminal record?" Tony asked hopefully, even if he knew it was unlikely. Cruise lines probably didn't like to take on crew without a clean record.

McGee shrugged. "Not in the United States. Beyond that, I can't tell you."

"You think he's giving Sacha Paulson a little sumpthin' sumpthin'?" Borin asked, and waggled her eyebrows.

Tony looked at Ziva. She was the sumpthin' sumpthin' expert in this case.

"Sacha suggested that it was an eyes only affair, but I sensed an inappropriate closeness," Ziva stated. "He was standing behind her chair and leaning right over her shoulder. Invading her personal space, yes? And there were a few private little smiles. They seemed very close." She went on, seemingly oblivious to the rolling of Gibbs' eyes and the smirks that McGee and Borin shared. "Oh, and we saw them just now on the deck with John Paulson. Sacha and Herschelle were further apart but laughing together. John did not look pleased."

"So you think John might think there is something going on between them," Gibbs guessed.

"And he is putting up with it because Herschelle serves a purpose."

"A monetary one," Tony said. "I played ball with these guys this morning, and I got the impression that John in particular is keenly aware that his marriage is falling apart, and he wants to fix it."

"Yes, but Sacha is talking about running away to Fiji," Ziva added. She and Tony shared a knowing look.

"How does any of this gossip prove or disprove that they were involved in Will Crawford's death?" Gibbs wanted to know.

"It doesn't yet," Tony said. "But it tells us that there are cracks that can work at until that information spills out."

"There was a lot of talk about _the business_ between Sacha and Julie," Ziva offered.

"The business?" Borin repeated. "Like…the Mob?"

"Didn't you infiltrate the Mob once, Tony?" McGee asked.

"Yes," Tony said, feeling a little pride in his past. "But she doesn't mean the Mob." He looked at Ziva to check. "Right?"

"Right," Ziva said. "I mean, they are just referring to some activity they are involved in as a business. And I am sure they are not talking about John's toy business. I get a strong feeling that the women want out, but do not feel that they can leave."

Gibbs sighed, stood up and walked away. His voice carried back to them. "Let me know when you have something,"

"No problem, boss," Tony said. He watched McGee and Borin's eyes follow the same path as they tracked Gibbs' exit from the room. When he was gone, Borin gently shoved McGee's shoulder with her hand, and he shifted over to make space for her beside him. Borin got to her knees and crossed her forearms in front of her on McGee's desk.

"Hey, tell us about these Peace Corps hippies," Borin said.

Ziva shrugged. "Met in Africa, got corporate jobs, moved to Samaná and perhaps became drug dealers."

"Doesn't make sense," Borin said.

"Have you looked into them yet, McGee?" Tony asked.

McGee huffed to himself. "Yeah, I did a Goggle search on _Nadine plus Rodney drug dealers Samaná_."

Tony and Ziva shared a look.

"You find anything?" Tony asked, poking him.

McGee scowled, and Tony grinned. By George, the boy had something.

"Not about them specifically," he said, and Borin turned her head sharply to look at him with surprise. "But a lot about drug dealers in Samaná. There was a report that some have been using the dense cover of the jungle there to grow coca plants."

Tony cocked his head to the side. "What's that, now?" he asked just as Ziva and Borin more or less asked the same thing.

McGee nodded with acknowledgement. "Yeah."

"Dense jungle," Ziva repeated. "The kind of place that a pair of conservationists might spend a lot of time."

"Certainly wouldn't raise suspicious eyebrows," Tony said.

"We need to find these two," Borin said, and looked at McGee. "You need a hand? I can probably get one of my guys on it."

"Uh, no. I got it," McGee said, clearly fearing the wrath of Gibbs if he said yes. "But thanks."

"We will push for more information here," Ziva said.

Borin nodded. "Meanwhile, I'll go back to the previous cases on board the Caribbean Carnivalé and see if Herschelle Phillips is mentioned in any of the files."

"Has your other case petered out?" Ziva asked her.

Borin shook her head. "Nope. But I'm waiting for ballistics results to come in so I thought I'd check in here." She paused to size Tony up. "Did you really infiltrate the Mob, DiNozzo?" she asked.

Tony sat up straighter. "In Baltimore," he said, ignoring McGee's sigh. "Sent a boss to jail."

Borin narrowed her eyes and looked at McGee. "Is that true?"

"Yes," McGee groaned. "Please don't get him talking about it."

"You're just jealous," Tony told him.

Ziva held up her hand between Tony and the screen. "Okay. We can talk about that another time. McGee? We will check in again tomorrow, but not until the afternoon. We are docking in Haiti in the morning and we are going to try to spend more time with our new friends."

McGee looked dubious. "Do they really like you?"

Tony glared at him. "Hey. Tom and Zara are incredibly charming and likeable," he insisted.

McGee popped an eyebrow. "Really? So why can't Tony and Ziva be like that?"

Tony opened his mouth, but Ziva beat him to his retort.

"Shut up, McGee," she said sharply, and then abruptly cut off the video feed. Tony grinned to himself. As far as he was concerned, Ziva was _perfectly_ charming.

…

At 2130, Tony and Ziva left the Japanese restaurant they'd had dinner at and went in search of dessert. They wandered with other guests down the grand promenade down the center of the ship that was flanked by retail stores and cafés, and ended up in a dessert parlor that miraculously only had two children in it. One of the kids, a boy who looked about eight or nine, had an enormous ice cream sundae in front of him that was almost the size of his head. The other, a girl who was a few years older, had some kind of cake piled high with pink and blue cotton candy. The sight of both were enough to make Tony slightly nauseous, and when Ziva placed her order for a second sorbet in as many days, he decided that the fresh, light dessert was the better option and made it two. They took a seat near the back of the small parlor and settled in to wait out a little while longer before they would head up to the nightclub. Tony wasn't really in the mood for dancing—although he hadn't had the privilege to spin Ziva around the floor before—but they knew their friends would be. At least, that was what Sacha had told Ziva earlier in the day.

"I have a question," Ziva said, lowering her voice so that they wouldn't be heard. He doubted that the half dozen groups in the parlor with them would have overheard them anyway. Pop music was playing though speakers in the ceiling, and they were surrounded by chatter and laughter.

"What's that, honey?" he asked, and threw her a cutesy smile.

Ziva shot him one back, but she managed to make it look at little dangerous. "Do you miss this?"

"Miss what?"

Ziva glanced around them and then spoke carefully. "Being Tom," she said. "Or whoever you were in Baltimore."

He caught on. _Undercover_.

"When we spoke about it earlier, I saw a spark in you."

"You did?"

She nodded and cocked her head to the side. "Do you miss it?"

"What's to miss?" he asked. "We're doing the same thing now."

Ziva shook her head. "No, not the same thing," she said. "This is not as exciting."

This time, he cocked his head at her. "No? I guess that depends on your definition of exciting." Personally, Tony was more than happy to hang out in close, scantily-clad quarters with her for work purposes. Or any purposes.

Ziva smirked, but she continued to try to explain herself. "I imagine the stakes were higher in Baltimore. You had to do a lot more thinking on your feet. Improvise. You like that sort of thing. And I imagine it was a big-ticket item that would have gotten you a lot of attention. You are clearly proud of it, and I'm sure you have reason to be."

Tony raised his chin and narrowed his eyes and regarded her with mild suspicion. That was all true, but what was she getting at, exactly? "Yeah," he drew out.

"Are you bored?" she asked, point blank.

Tony blinked. "I…no," he stuttered, and frowned. "Why? Are you bored?" It occurred to him that she might be. Life at NCIS was undoubtedly more safe, secure…and boring…than like in the Mossad.

"No," she replied. "I enjoy what we do."

Tony leaned forward. "But you're not enjoying yourself here, are you?" He couldn't help grinning as he said it.

She looked as if she was searching for the diplomatic answer, but then sighed and dropped her head. "I…no," she admitted. "But it has only been two days. And I have spent most of that time drinking virgin cocktails and chatting with the girls."

"So it's like a regular weekend for you," he quipped.

She smirked. "Yes. If I am able to find a cross stitch class, this trip will be an exact replica."

He grinned. "Despite having a zip line, wave pool, theatre and ice skating rink, I don't think this ship has a gun range," he said, pointing to an activity she _was_ likely to enjoy.

"That is probably for the best," she muttered, and then smiled at the waiter bringing over their orders. "Thank you," she said to him, and he disappeared again.

Tony picked up his spoon and eyed his dessert, deciding where to start. "Aside from our other goals for this trip, I think another one should be to not gain any weight. Or no more than five pounds."

"Do you want me to start yelling at you every time you eat something, like some of the other spouses on this boat?" Ziva offered.

"Oh, thanks, _honey_ ," he said, fairly certain she wasn't serious. "But that's not necessary."

Ziva shrugged it off. "Do you think you could do a trip like this on your own time?" she asked, moving the conversation back again.

"It's only been two days," he echoed. "Hard to tell. I'm not opposed to drinking by a pool in the sun, though." He eyed her. "Particularly if I'm with hot women in bikinis."

"Women, plural?" she asked. "How many do you need to make it worthwhile?"

He assumed the question was a trap. But she asked it in such a deadpan way that he knew she was just playing along. "Not sure," he said, then acted like he was thinking it over. "What are their measurements?"

Ziva snorted into her sorbet, and he decided that since she was in a good mood he could get away with being a little honest with her.

"I am enjoying it more with you than I would have with Borin," he told her. "Not that Borin's not fun. But you're, well, you."

She lifted her eyes from her dessert to assess his sincerity. When she found it fully intact, she gave him a warm smile that made his stomach flip. "We are a well-oiled machine, yes?"

That wasn't the point he'd been trying to make. But he thought she probably knew that. And she wasn't wrong. "Yeah. But I meant personally."

"So did I."

"Oh." He smiled. "So, you want to play shuffleboard with me?"

Ziva arched an eyebrow. "I have not heard it called that before."

His smile got bigger. "You haven't seen the way I do it."

Ziva pulled herself back and looked at him with suspicion. "Shuffling? I am not sure I want to anymore."

"Anymore? Suggesting that there was a time you wanted to?" He waggled his eyebrows, and he expected her to chicken out and change the subject. But she met him head on, as if she thought he was stupid for thinking otherwise.

"Do women who do not want to usually kiss you the way I did the other day?" she asked.

Tony had known Ziva for about eight years. In that time, he'd discovered that she considered turning the tables on him to be her second job. So he didn't know why he was so surprised that she had done just that with her comment, but he was. He opened his mouth, closed it again when he realized he didn't have anything to shoot back at her with, and then broke into a smile. "I guess not," he finally said, and then leaned forward as he regained his mental footing. "Let's unpack that comment," he said. "Am I to assume there was a certain intention on your part with the dinner and the movie and the drinks—" He stopped abruptly when he remembered that she'd been giving him a weird vibe that night, and that he hadn't been able to put his finger on what was going on with her. The realization smacked him in the face. "Wait… _am I_ to assume?"

Ziva took a moment to lick sorbet off her spoon. "You left early," she said with a shrug.

Tony clenched his spoon in his fist and he could suddenly hear his heart beating rapidly in his ears. Was she serious? "Why didn't you ask me to stay?"

Ziva stared at her spoon as she swirled at through her melting dessert. She seemed to be considering how to answer that, and Tony resisted the urge to lean over and grab her hand. Finally, she looked up and shot him a small, self-conscious smile that didn't sit well on her face. "I don't know," she said with a shrug and another smile, and Tony thought that was probably true. "I did not want to…" She stopped and her eyes went to the ceiling as she tried to explain herself. "You wanted to leave. And I had not made the move I had intended to. So…I let you go."

Tony's heartbeat got stronger and he got a little lightheaded as he tried to come to grips with this. He'd been keen to move things along for a while—their kiss on the night the world was supposed to end was almost a distant memory now—but hadn't worked out how to bring it up with her. Now they found themselves in the middle of the conversation, he could barely believe it.

"You haven't let go of the intent, though. Right?"

She gave him that small, intimate smile of hers that always gave him tingles. "Of course not."

He sat back, heart hammering a million miles an hour as he watched her. This could be their moment. Finally. The thought made every nerve ending in his body come to life, and he shifted in his seat as his pants suddenly got a little tighter. God, just the thought that this could be happening—now, tonight—was more than enough to turn him on. He felt a flush creep up his neck and drew a long, shaky breath. "Well," he said, and then broke into another smile. "Suddenly, I'm not that interested in my lemon sorbet."

Ziva smiled. "Be honest. Were you ever?"

"Not really."

She gave him a sultry little smile that made his pants even tighter, and then put down her spoon, pushed back her chair and stood up. "Come with me," she said, cocking her head to the side and holding out her hand.

Tony quickly stood and grasped her hand, and the two of them left as quickly as they could without causing a scene. They headed for the nearest elevator and then climbed aboard along with four women in their 20s and an older couple who looked like they were up for a conversation. He smiled politely but then pointedly turned his attention to his companion, who was staring ahead at the elevator doors with that goddamn Mona Lisa smile on her face that made him crazy. His eyes fell to her neck, and the slightest trembling of her skin over her racing pulse made his mouth water. How many times had he found himself thinking about leaning over to kiss his way around her neck in the past? It had to be hundreds. He swore to God that he would not fall sleep tonight until he had coaxed the exact sound he wanted to hear out of her when he kissed her there.

When the elevator stopped at their deck, Ziva turned her head to give him a quick wink before she led him through the doors and down the long ship's hallway. Finally, they swept into their room with a speed usually reserved for takedowns, and by the time the door had slammed shut Ziva had her hands on his hips and was pulling herself up against him. She looked up at him with sultry eyes and parted lips, and for a moment he thought back eight years to a hotel room when they barely knew each other but were already keen to scratch the itch of attraction.

He never would have been able to predict what would happen between them after that.

"Are you ready?" Ziva breathed, stretching her neck so that her lips were _just_ out of reach of his.

A smile jumped to his face at the question, and he lifted a hand to tunnel it through her hair. "Willing and able," he assured her.

He caught the corners of her mouth curl upwards for a fraction of a second, and then her lips were on his. There was no slow build up or introduction, just desperate hunger from the first second that made his brain release an overdose of endorphins through his body. He got lightheaded for a moment and moaned as he held on a little tighter to her, snaking his arm around her waist for balance. She made a noise against him, a laugh or moan or groan, but didn't stop kissing him. If anything, she got even more insistent, and Tony could not be more pleased about it. It killed him to think that she'd let him walk out the door the other night when she wanted him to stay, but it was clear to him right now that she regretted that decision.

Ziva gave his hips a tug and he followed her lead towards the bedroom. He smacked his elbow against the doorframe as they stumbled slightly and felt sudden pain jolt through his arm, making him hiss against her mouth. Ziva mumbled something he didn't catch before she pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he soothed the rest of the pain by letting his hands roam all over her just like he'd always wanted to. They slid over her shoulders and down and around her back, over her perfect butt and as far down the backs of her thighs as he could reach. The return journey lifted the hem of her dress enough to get his fingertips on bare skin for a second or two, and he felt himself get a little dizzy again, this time with anticipation. He paused to press his palms into her lower back, right over those two perfect dimples he knew sat just above her ass, and he made a mental note to spend a long time kissing those dimples before the sun rose.

Her mouth suddenly dropped a few inches away from his as she stepped out of her heels, and she folded her leg backwards to climb onto the bed. She kept the front of his shirt in her fist, though, and pulled him with her onto the mattress with a molten look in her eyes he'd never seen before, but which sent shivers through him. With his pulse throbbing through his entire body, he crawled after her like she was his only source of air, and lay down on top of her body that suddenly seemed 50 degrees hotter than it had a minute ago. Another sultry smile played on her lips and she wrapped one of her legs around his hip, and he felt a wave of uncontrollable desire crash through him. How he'd managed to keep his hands and mouth off this woman for so long, he had no idea.

They shared another blistering kiss before Tony broke off and commenced his exploration of her neck, kissing and sucking at the soft skin as Ziva moaned and wrapped her fingers in his hair. The smell of her so close to him and the taste of her in his mouth was an overdose of sensation that he was keen to develop an incurable addiction to, and when Ziva took a shuddering breath against his ear and squeezed her thigh around his hip he got the message that she would be more than happy to indulge him. His hand slid down the side of her ribcage to her hip and back up again, up and down as he kissed her and tasted her. He felt his brain starting to cloud over, but it didn't matter. He had no complicated strategy here that he had to follow. He was just acting on base instinct to get as close to her as possible, touch her as much as he could, flood her veins with the same desire he felt and make them both cry out and writhe and never want to go back to the way things were before.

When he found a spot on her neck right below her right ear, Ziva practically whimpered his name before forcefully yanking the back of her shirt out of his pants. He grinned at the impatient move until she rolled her hips beneath him, pressing her pelvis harder into his and making him grunt with pleasure. She pulled even harder at his shirt.

"Off," she panted.

It seemed like a reasonable request. He pulled his mouth off her neck and rolled back far enough to wrestle his shirt over his head, and before he could roll back Ziva had shoved him all the way onto his back and had swung her leg over him. She rose up above him with a smile, planting her hands on his chest and sitting back over his hips. Color stained her cheeks and her hair fell in a stunning mess over her shoulders, and for a few seconds he couldn't believe that he was seeing her—his partner, his best friend, the person he spent most of his life looking across as desk at—like this. Undone, private, and extremely turned on.

How great had his life become?

He gripped her hips as she ran her fingernails lightly down his chest to his belly, and couldn't help shivering when she reached the more sensitive skin right above the waistband of his pants. Ziva smiled under dark eyes burning with desire, and he gripped the hem of her dress in his fists before giving it a tug.

"Off," he returned, but it was more of a warning than a request. He didn't wait for her to help before he sat up and pulled the dress off her and dropped it to the floor. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down onto him, and as his hands started exploring the skin on her back, he took a moment to smile at her. "I cannot believe that you didn't want this the other night," he admonished gently.

"That is not an accurate assessment of what happened," she panted, before sucking lightly on his neck and slipping her fingertips under his waistband.

He wasn't in the right frame of mind to argue semantics, especially when her fingers found his belt and started working the buckle loose. "Okay," he sighed. "But just to put it on the table, I really think we should have got started on this a couple of years ago."

Ziva dragged her lips from his neck to his mouth. "Noted," she breathed against him. "That was a very bad decision on our part. But now we have time to correct it, yes?" She punctuated the statement by pulling down his zipper and slipping her hand inside his pants.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes," he hissed in response to both what she'd said and what she'd done. "Let's take a lot of time."

She hummed in agreement and he wrapped his arms around her as she kissed him again. Along with the desire coursing through every nerve in his body, he started to feel something else sink into his bones. Contentedness. Absolute certainty that this was right. No misgivings, no guilt. Just total conviction that he'd been right to wait for this woman his whole life. And if he was really lucky, Ziva would feel the same way.

* * *

Okay? OKAY? They had the sex. Yes, there will be more relationshippy stuff in later chapters. But there will also be more case stuff, because I already wrote it and I really can't be bothered re-writing it.

For those of you who were hoping for a bit more steam, I'm sorry. I didn't want to go overboard and have it feel out of place. Also, it's really hard to write that stuff (for me, anyway). So maybe go read Blush or Orison or…I don't know what else. But I feel like I've written a lot of smut in the past, so it's out there if you look for it. Enjoy.


	13. Chapter 13

So the finale aired and we're all destroyed and infuriated (I didn't watch—Twitter told me everything I need to know). I'm keen to set myself free from this show for good, so you get two chapters tonight, two on the weekend and then the remaining two when/if I get around to writing them. No promises, sorry. I'm so, so done with it all.

* * *

The alarm was obnoxious on most days, but Ziva found it even more intrusive on that particular morning. She had not been asleep, exactly. But she wasn't entirely conscious either. She had just been warm and comfortable, sore but sated, and vaguely aware that her partner was lying at her back with his arm heavy around her waist. She would have been content to lie there for a while longer, and she supposed she should be grateful for the extra hour they had on the ship as opposed to a regular workday. But unfortunately, a longer lie-in wasn't on the cards.

She lifted a sleepy arm to reach over to the nightstand and shut the alarm on her cell phone off. Behind her, Tony groaned, tightened his arm around her and pressed his face into the back of her shoulder. He clearly didn't want to get up either. Ziva cracked her eyes open to take in the bright, early morning Caribbean sky beyond their balcony. The clock had not been lying. It really was morning, albeit it a beautiful one. And they really did have to get up.

Ziva sighed and shifted around until she was on her back. She looked at Tony from beneath heavy lids, and the sight of him there, with mussed up hair and a soft, sleepy face, was enough to make her stomach cramp with either excitement or fear. Or maybe both. It was real. Last night had been real. If her pleasantly sore muscles and naked body beneath the sheets weren't enough to convince her, naked DiNozzo wrapped around her in bed was. They'd actually taken a big step.

So, what now?

She waited for the urge to run out the door to come over her. It was what she feared. But after a full minute of looking at his relaxed face lying just a few inches from hers, the flight response didn't come. Oh yes, she was nervous. Very nervous. But she was also warm with affection from head to toe, and she was relieved that she found herself wanting to stay and smile and talk. She would have plenty of time to freak out later, if the need arose. For now, she took a deep breath and then reached to brush her fingers through his hair to wake him up.

"Tony?"

"Mmm," Tony groaned. He tightened his grip around her waist and tried to snuggle in further. She smiled and stretched her neck to brush her lips across his.

"Tony, we have to get up."

"Ugh."

She smiled to herself. "I know. But we have work to do."

" _Ugh!_ "

Ziva sucked on her bottom lip as she thought it over. She had dealt with Tony in a sleepy and uncooperative state before. Usually she just applied some kind of quick and sharp pressure to his body somewhere—a pinch to his shoulder, a flick to his ear—but that didn't feel appropriate this morning. She would have to try something else.

"Tony," she said again, and stretched her neck to kiss him more soundly. He was unresponsive aside from an appreciative moan, and so she kept peppering his lips with kiss after kiss until she felt him begin to reciprocate. She supposed she should have stopped then because she had his attention, but last night she had remembered how much she enjoyed kissing him. She indulged in the act and let the kisses get a little deeper until Tony's hand slid up her ribcage and he rolled to rest his weight on her side. He seemed wide awake now, and while she wasn't interested in teasing him, she did want to talk to him.

She rested her hand against his cheek and pulled back from the kiss to look up at him. There was a hint of a playful look in his eyes, and Ziva smiled freely at him. "Good morning," she whispered.

"Morning," he whispered back, and pressed another kiss to her lips. "Sleep well?"

"Like the dead," she told him. "You?"

"Something like that." He kissed her lips again and then dipped his head to start kissing her neck. Ziva's eyes fluttered closed and she felt the good, low down tingles from last night fire up again. While she knew they really had to get up and start preparing for their trip ashore, she ended up winding her fingers into the short hair at the back of his head to encourage him, and arched her neck to give him better access. He worked his way from one side of her neck to the other, kissing, licking and sucking gently at her sensitive skin and making her groan. But when he started heading south towards her chest, Ziva forced herself to stop him.

"Tony?"

"Hmm?"

She gripped his hair and gently tugged. "We have to get ready for the shore excursion. And we have to talk."

It probably wasn't the reference to work that stopped him, but rather the reference to talking. His head popped up and he looked up at her, licking moisture back onto his lips. "What?"

"We have to talk."

His eyes, so playful just minutes ago, filled with worry and a touch of hurt. "Please don't tell me you're going to back out on me now, Ziva."

Her heart physically hurt at the suggestion, and she took his face between her hands. "No," she told him firmly. "No, I do not want to back out."

Tony breathed out in relief, and rolled off her to lie beside her again. "Okay. So what's up?"

She rolled onto her side to face him and pushed her hair off her face. "I am not backing out of this," she repeated.

"Okay."

"I just want to make sure that you are sure about it."

Tony arched an eyebrow at her. "Was I not clear last night?"

"Yes," she said, and laid her hand over his. "But sometimes things feel different in the morning."

Tony watched her quietly, and she was surprised when his face turned into an expression of understanding. "What's going on?" he asked gently, turning it back on her.

She took a breath, preparing to assure him that _nothing_ was going on. But she bit her lip over the lie. They'd talked before about how not talking, not being honest, was the thing that stood in the way of them moving forward. So she consciously stopped herself from making the same mistake and gave him the awkward truth.

"I am nervous."

"About what?"

"About what mistakes we will make."

One corner of his mouth pulled back in a smile. "You're so sure we'll make mistakes."

"Yes."

He threaded his fingers through hers. "Okay, so am I. And I'm nervous, too. But are we going to go through the rest of our lives on our best behavior?"

"That is unlikely."

"So let's accept that we'll make mistakes," he said simply. "And let's promise that when we do, we'll deal with it like mature adults."

It was Ziva's turn to smirk. "Tony, it is like you do not even know us."

He smiled and leaned forward to kiss her briefly. "Yes, I do. We can do it." He paused. "We've just got to commit to it."

The word made Ziva's heart pound, but she nodded. She could do this. She could commit to this relationship. "Yes."

Tony smiled and lifted her hand to kiss it. "Let's just try to go easy on ourselves, okay? We don't have to be perfect. We just have to be us."

It was the simplest, best and somehow hardest advice he'd ever given her. But he was right, and she promised herself that from now until the end it was advice she would make every effort to follow.

"Deal," she told him.

He smiled again and leaned forward to kiss her. And kiss her. And kiss her some more. God, he was a _really_ good kisser. Her body reacted deliciously, and instead of stopping him she wrapped her arms and legs around him with a moan.

"What time do we have to disembark?" she asked between kisses.

"Eight," he said breathily.

That gave them a little over an hour. They'd have to eat breakfast on shore. So what? She reached down to squeeze his butt and tilted her hips towards him. "Plenty of time," she decided.

Tony paused to flash a grin at her. "There's _always_ time," she told her, and then dropped his head to start kissing his way down her body.

Ziva had a feeling that was a motto she was going to become very familiar with.

…

Ziva stood on a platform high above the ocean in Labadee as a Haitian man with large hands and a bright smile secured her into a harness. John and Martin stood on a platform behind and below her, waiting for their turn and alternatively calling out encouragement and trying to scare her. Both efforts irritated her.

"You're going to kill it, Zara!" John called, and Ziva wasn't clear if he was being deliberately condescending, or if he really thought he was being nice.

"If the fall doesn't kill you first," Martin followed up.

Ziva rolled her eyes to herself as her Haitian instructor tried to reassure her. "Do not listen to them, _madame_. The harness is safe."

"I know," she assured him.

"Give her a break, guys," Tony called back, and Ziva liked to think that it was only his undercover identity that had him speaking for her.

Martin held up his hand in apology, and Zara smiled back at him as Ziva thought about sabotaging his harness. She looked across at Tony who was getting secured into his harness by another employee. The sight of him banished thoughts of Martin Rose from her mind and sent a sudden and intense wave of desire through her. She averted her gaze before she could catch his, but she couldn't stop her grin. Was this what it was going to be like now, she wondered? Immediately turned on by the sight, or even thought of him? Probably not forever, she conceded. But for now she would allow herself to enjoy the hell out of it.

The instructor talked her through the safe and correct way to make it down the line, and Ziva nodded dutifully.

"You feel okay?" he checked.

"You don't need to worry about her," Tony called, drawing her gaze again and making her smile wider. "She eats danger for breakfast."

Her instructor seemed pleased by the information. "You have done this before?"

"Once or twice."

"Ready to go?"

"One second," Tony said, and then walked over to her with a grin. "For good luck," he said, and then put his hand on her cheek and pulled her in to kiss her. Ziva laughed with the joy that came with the freedom to act on impulse, and found great delight in the happiness in his eyes.

"I will race you to the bottom, yes?"

Tony grinned. "Let's do it."

He went back to his line and their instructors hooked them up. As she waited for the signal to go, Ziva looked out over the vast ocean, the beach and the forest below. She felt the warm sun on her face and smelled the sea air. She looked over at her partner and found him staring back with a smile, and she tried to commit the moment to her memory, when everything was sparkling and beautiful and full of possibility.

Happiness.

"Three, two, one, go!"

She pushed off the ledge and suddenly she was flying through the air. The wind whipped her cheeks as she went faster and faster, and she heard herself laugh with exhilaration. She looked across at Tony who kept accelerating away from her, one hand on his harness and the other stretched out to the side as he embraced the ride.

There was no way she was ever going to forget this day.

She looked down at the ocean as it closer and closer, and she could make out the rocks and fish just below the surface. She zoomed over the heads of a group of swimmers who yelled and clapped as she passed, and then lifted her feet before she touched down on the platform at the bottom of the line a good five seconds after Tony. He stepped out of his harness and turned to her with a huge smile on his face and his hair sticking every which way thanks to his discarded helmet and the wind.

"Beat you," he called as he approached her.

"You weigh more," she pointed out.

Tony shrugged, taking her ribbing of him in stride. It seemed like nothing could shake his good mood today. He slung his arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "It's all muscle," he told her.

She chuckled as she removed her helmet and stepped out of her harness, and they walked to the back of the platform to watch John and Martin come down the line.

"We should do that again," he told her. "That was too much fun."

"We still have the…" she trailed off as she tried to think of the correct name for their next activity. She failed, and so mimed driving a car. "The thing with the slide and the kart."

Tony nodded. "Yeah, I hope that thing has barricades. I can see you taking the corners too fast and falling to your death."

"Perhaps." She leaned back against the rock ledge behind them, and while Tony had his face turned upwards to watch their new 'friends' come down the zip line, Ziva watched him. She was used to the sight of him filling her with a sense of intense affection, and often desire. But now that they'd crossed the line…oh boy.

Sensation flooded her body and it felt like every blood vessel within her instantly boiled and flushed. She drew a deep breath meant to calm her, but it caught Tony's attention and his head snapped around. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"You okay? You're all red all of a sudden. Are you having an adrenaline surge?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No. I'm fine." She paused and turned it back on him. "You look happy, Tony. Perhaps you have found your true calling in life."

He leaned back against the wall beside her, his arm pressed against hers. "Zip lines? Well, that'll set me up for retirement." He shrugged. "Today's a good day."

She hummed in agreement, then let herself have just a taste of what her libido wanted. She leaned over to kiss him, and his hand quickly came up to cradle her jaw and keep her there longer than she'd intended. She didn't complain, but was left a little lightheaded when they parted from all the blood in her body running south. She licked her lips as she stared at his.

"Yes, it is a good day," she mumbled.

Tony grinned, but they both turned their heads when they heard one of the two men coming down the zip line yelling out with glee.

"They're having a good day too," Tony said.

Ziva nodded, but she doubted John or Martin were even close to her level of happiness right now. The two men landed on the platform almost simultaneously, and immediately (and perhaps predictably) turned to high five each other and whoop as if they'd just won the Superbowl. Ziva groaned to herself, but plastered a smile on her face as would have been expected from Zara.

"How great was that?" John called to them.

"I want to go again," Tony said. "And maybe another time after that. But Zara wants to wait until after we do the jungle tree top roller coaster thing."

John and Martin got out of their harnesses and came over to them. Both were sweating and red-cheeked, and Ziva wondered if they'd snuck in a few beers with breakfast.

"Let's go, then," John said, and smacked Tony's chest with the back of his hand.

Ziva squinted up at the top of the zip line. She couldn't make out who was up there, but she knew Sacha and Julie would be down soon. "You don't want to wait for the others?"

John and Martin chuckled, and Ziva felt her hackles rise.

"Not really," Martin said. "They know the way. They'll come when they're ready."

Tony looked down at her, and Ziva made a decision. Stick with the women. "I will wait. You go ahead," she told Tony.

"You sure?" he asked, although Ziva probably thought it was for show. He knew their chances of getting their marks to talk were better when they split them along clearly frustrated gender lines.

"Of course," Ziva said with an easy smile. "I will see you up there."

"Don't take too long," Tony said, and then leaned in to give her another kiss that was probably a little to long for a casual goodbye. Not that Ziva minded.

She really, _really_ liked kissing him.

She watched the three of them take off across the road towards the climb up to the jungle coaster, and then turned back to watch the next pair of tourists come down the zip line. She had only seen Sacha and Julie for a few minutes at the top of the zip line, but they'd been chatty and cranky with their husbands. With any luck, they'd remain that way for the rest of the day.

Across the road, Tony, John and Martin walked three abreast as they walked up the trail to the jungle coaster. Tony could feel the smile still sitting on his face, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by his companions.

"You make me sick, you know that, Tom?" Martin said, not unkindly.

Tony raised his eyebrows. "How's that?"

Martin shook his head with a smile. "You've got this hot young wife, and every time you look at each other it looks like you're about to start banging right there. How long have you been married again?"

Tony acknowledged, and then let go, the swell of pride he felt at the comment. "A year," he said. "Together about four."

"And how long have you lived together?"

"Three," Tony decided on the spot.

Martin gazed off ahead of them, but was recalling a memory from the past. "Three, huh? The third year was when the shine wore off for me and Julie," he said. "First year of marriage was hard. Second year was better, but the third was a frickin' nightmare. And the fourth."

"Oh, yeah," John said knowingly.

"We're had good patches along the way," Martin added. "But Christ, I can feel it all falling down around us now."

It was the most open about his marriage difficulties Martin had been, and Tony seized on it without going overboard. "Don't you want to save it from falling down?"

Martin was quiet for a few long moments, save for his slight panting as they walked up the hill. "Some days I think I'd move heaven and earth," he finally said. "But I never do. And other days, I think we'd be better off apart."

"So what keeps you together?" Tony asked.

Martin looked at John, who nodded like he already knew the answer.

"I guess there are some things that are hard to untangle," Martin said.

"Like your wife's legs from around another man's hips," John threw in harshly.

Tony blinked in surprise at the blunt statement. "What?"

John's expression turned to thunder for a moment before he grabbed Tony's forearm. "Hey, Zara's gotten all buddy buddy with Sash, right?"

Tony nodded as his muscles tensed, ready for a fight if it came to that. "Yeah, I think so," he said evenly.

"Do me a favor," John told him, gripping his arm harder. "Ask her about Sacha and this guy who works on the boat. His name's Herschelle."

Tony acted like it was the first time he'd ever heard about it. "You think she's sleeping with him?" he asked, but made a face like he thought that was crazy.

"I'm positive," John said with a tight jaw. "But she denies it."

Tony worked hard to keep the fight and accusation out of his voice. Setting the guy off was not a good idea, especially not when his ninja back up wasn't there. "Why wouldn't you take her word for it?"

"I got my reasons," John said, and then let go of Tony's arm.

Tony shrugged easily, trying to diffuse the tension. "Yeah, sure. I'll mention it to her."

John spun again and put a finger in Tony's face. "She can't say anything to Sacha."

Tony held his hands up. He wasn't fighting. "Okay," he said calmly.

"I mean it, man," John said, and a look entered his eye that sent warning signals racing through every nerve ending in Tony's body. This guy could explode at any second. Tony had seen that look too many times throughout his career. He knew what it meant.

He nodded slowly and made his best effort to look and sound trustworthy. "I got it," he assured John.

John sized him up for a moment, then pulled back and nodded. The tension drained out of him, and he turned around like he'd be calm all along. "Great," he said. "Let's get to this coaster. Tom, man, you're gonna love it."

Tony nodded as he brought up the rear. "Can't wait," he said. Just like he couldn't wait to tell Ziva all about what had just happened.

Down at the zip line, Ziva was getting her own earful courtesy of Julie.

"Did you see that?" Julie fumed. "They just _left!_ Like we're not even here."

"We're _not_ here, Julie," Sacha said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Not until we're needed. Remember?"

Julie stomped up the steps to the road and threw her arm out in frustration. "God! I could strangle him."

"Don't be silly," Sacha told her. "His neck is way too big for that. Your best bet is poison."

"It'd sure be easy to slip something in his drink," Julie muttered, and threw a look at Sacha. She started to smile but then seemed to remember that Ziva was there. Listening to and documenting every single word. Her smile got tighter. "I'm sorry, Zara. You don't need to hear all this."

Ziva put a comforting hand on her shoulder as they crossed the road and headed for the jungle track their partners had used minutes ago. "Do not apologize. It is healthy to vent our frustrations, yes? It is no good to try to ignore them."

Julie gave her what appeared to be a sincere smile of thanks, and Ziva caught her eyes watering. "I'm just so tired, you know?" she said. "Tired of trying to hold it all together."

"You and me both, hon," Sacha said, and slung her arm around her friend's shoulders to give her a squeeze. "Hang in there a little while longer, and then we can take off to Europe and enjoy retirement in French vineyards."

Julie laughed. "Sounds amazing."

"You've always got me," Sacha told her.

The women paused to hug each other.

"You've always got me, too," Julie told her.

Despite herself, Ziva smiled. Sure, they were potentially murdering drug dealers. But it was nice that they could rely on each other.

They started walking again, climbing the hill up to the jungle coaster. Julie nudged Sacha.

"You know what we need? I little bit of _fun_."

Sacha shook her head, but chuckled. "You want a divorce, that'd be the way to get one."

Ziva assumed the women were talking about having some fun with some other men, but was left a little confused when Julie glanced over her shoulder at her and asked, "What do you say, Zara? Are you up for some fun?"

"Of course," she replied. "What sort of fun are you talking about?"

Julie and Sacha shared a look, and then stopped and turned to her. While Sacha crossed her arms, Julie leaned in.

"How long has it been since you _really_ partied?"

Ziva felt her eyebrows rise. "You mean…fall down drunk partied?" She paused and lowered her voice, and hoped she was on the right track. "Or partied with other substances?"

Julies smiled and let out a breath, as if she was relieved that Ziva had caught on. "Exactly," she said.

Ziva shrugged and looked between them with what she hoped was a guilty-but-not expression. "It's been years. But…I had a lot of fun with certain substances in college. And in my 20s." She grimaced, but then smiled.

"No judgment," Zara, Julie said with a wink.

"Okay, good," Ziva said with relief. "Because it was _a lot_ of fun."

"It sure was," Sacha said, almost wistfully.

Ziva leaned in a bit more and tried to look excited by the idea. "Are you saying we should get something?" she asked.

"You're on a cruise," Julie told her. "Break some rules and have some fun." She stopped and cocked her head to the side. "Tom's not going to have a problem with it, is he?"

Ziva thought that in this case, 'Tom' would be extremely encouraging of her getting some hands on some illicit substances. She waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, God no. He had a lot of fun back in college."

Julie nodded and then turned to start walking again. But Ziva reached out to touch her arm. She needed more information on this.

"Wait, how would you even get something like that out here?" she asked.

Julie and Sacha shared another look, and Ziva thought they were probably trying to decide whether to trust her. She made her face as innocent as possible.

"We should be able to get some stuff, if you're serious," Sacha said.

"What _kind_ of stuff?"

Julie tapped her nose with her finger. "Just a little powder for your nose. Enough to put you in a good mood."

"Enough to put _you_ in a good mood," Sacha said to Julie.

Julie shrugged. "I hope so."

They started walking again.

"So, tonight?" Ziva pushed.

"Not tonight," Julie told her with a shake of her head. "But soon. Give me a day or two. I'll set you up."

Ziva nodded and followed them up the path with a small smile on her face. The offer of drugs from two suspected drug dealers? The case was beginning to look a lot stronger.

…

The first thing Tony wanted to do when they returned to their cabin was strip Ziva naked and resume his oral investigation of her body that he had commenced the night before. And it seemed to him that Ziva would be up for it. As soon as the cabin door closed he wrapped his arms around her from behind and started kissing her neck. Her skin heated under his lips as she gasped and gripped his arms, and Tony felt the blood in his body heat and head south. He resisted the urge to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, as he thought that would probably end with some kind of pain for him, but he started nudging her that way with his body. Ziva chuckled, but shook her head.

"Wait," she said on a sigh. "We have to get in touch with McGee first. Then we can have some downtime."

Tony growled into her neck. He understood but cursed her plan. "McGee, huh?" he said, and somehow managed to unwrap his arms from around her, "That's a cold shower."

Ziva chuckled and crossed to the safe to retrieve the laptop. "I am sure he would appreciate hearing that." She sat on the couch and booted up the machine, and Tony took a detour to the mini bar to grab a cold bottle of water. He sat beside her as Ziva called McGee up on Skype and offered her the bottle. She shook her head, and then rolled her shoulders and neck. He'd always found it incredibly sexy when she did that. Did she have any idea?

"Oh, God, don't do that right now," he pleaded with her.

Ziva turned a sultry gaze on him that he couldn't help but think was an unfair tease, and his eyes fell to her mouth. Did they really have to talk to McGee first? He was still going to be at work in an hour or two.

"You guys know I'm here, right?" McGee suddenly cut in, making them jump and snap their heads around to the laptop. McGee looked appalled. "I mean, you called me."

"McGoo," Tony greeted quickly, abandoning his idea to ditch the check-in. "How are things?"

"What do you want?" McGee asked.

"Got some more information for you," Tony said, getting his head in the game.

McGee looked off screen in the vicinity of Ziva's desk and beckoned to someone with his middle and index fingers. A few moments later Borin bent over to look at the screen. She smiled.

"Hey! Our little traveler friends!" she greeted. "Hang on." She disappeared for a moment and then reappeared, rolling an office chair with her. Tony recognized it straight away.

"That my chair?" he asked.

Borin sat down and leaned back, comfortably at home. "I've moved in, DiNozzo. Touched all your stuff, too. Went through your desk." She paused and grinned. "You look great in a bikini, David."

Tony pointedly ignored the look he knew Ziva had to be giving him right now and scowled at Borin. "There's this thing called respect. You might've heard about it from Aretha Franklin—"

"Okay, can we just talk about this couple, Rodney and Nadine, in Dominican Republic for a second?" McGee cut in. "There's stuff I need to be doing instead of listening to you bitch."

Tony raised an eyebrow at the unusual outburst and looked at Ziva. Ziva raised an eyebrow back at him. He opened his mouth to return serve, but Ziva put a hand on his knee.

"Later," she said to him, then addressed McGee and Borin. "What have you found?"

"Keeping in mind that it's difficult to find out information about people who fly under the radar in foreign countries," McGee began, "it looks like they also have a lot of money and assets for people who don't really have high paying jobs."

"Yeah, tax records show that they both made a bomb when they were in the US," Borin took over. "And they bought an estate in Connecticut that they still own. We're talking horses, pools, tennis courts. Rodney's family members are living there now. It's still mortgaged, and payments are being made on it from the couple's joint account in the US."

"And where is the money going into that joint account coming from?" Ziva asked.

"Dominican Republic," McGee said. "We don't have details on the account yet, and we're unlikely to get them."

"What about their life in Samaná?" Tony asked.

"That's been harder to track down," Borin said. "Like McGee said, they're flying under the radar. I found a contact in the area, and he knew the property but hadn't heard anything about them. He reckons that if they're millionaires, they've kept their status a secret."

"Or they're using their millions to provide incentive to people to keep the secret," Ziva said. "Were you able to find any communication between them and any of our suspects on Facebook?"

Borin and McGee shook their heads.

"The Prestons aren't on it, or their privacy settings don't let us see them," McGee said. "But that guy with the boat in Florida, Oscar McCarthy? He posted on John Paulson's wall again overnight saying _see you in a few_."

Tony and Ziva looked at each other. He was pretty certain she was thinking what he was thinking.

"That guy was in Key West, wasn't he?"

"Yep."

"We dock there in a few days."

Borin nodded. "Yeah. So you two need to do your investigating thing, and as soon as you know for sure what's going on you need to get in touch so we can get down there in time for whatever they're planning."

"Oh, you're going to join us on our vacay?" Tony asked.

"Arrests first, DiNozzo," Borin said. "Then we'll talk about zip lines and cocktails."

Tony held up his index finger. "I will have you know that neither of us has touched a drop of booze on this trip. And it's killing me." He didn't need to look at Ziva to know she was rolling her eyes.

"You have managed to touch every part of the buffet, though," she said.

He smiled and patted his stomach. "It's fine. I'm keeping active and working it all off."

Ziva smirked at him, but the comment went over their colleagues' heads, as he assumed it would.

"Just floating in a pool doesn't burn that many calories, Tony," McGee said.

Tony responded with an over the top fake laugh. "Oh, Tim! You and your highbrow mockery."

Borin shook her head at the display. "Ziva, you sure you don't want to come over and work with me at the Coast Guard?"

"I am considering it," Ziva muttered.

Tony turned his head to glare at her. "Traitor," he accused.

Ziva shook her head at him innocently, then returned to business. "Do you have a location for the Prestons' property? We dock in Samaná tomorrow."

McGee nodded. "Yeah, I'll email it to you."

Ziva looked at Tony. "We will need to work out how to get there. Perhaps hire a car."

Tony nodded, but it was a plan they'd need to discuss in further detail tonight.

"The reason we called, is I made a little headway today," Ziva told the others. "I had a vague conversation with Julie and Sacha about wanting to party like Zara did in her younger, wilder days, and Julie suggested that she could get her hands on something to help us with that."

"Something like what?" Borin asked.

"I assume drugs, but the word was not said," Ziva told them. "She was being careful. She said she may be able to get something for me in the next few days."

"Can you get her to be more explicit?" Borin asked.

"I am trying," Ziva told her.

Borin nodded. "Okay. Anything else?"

"John Paulson's a psycho," Tony declared. "I had a conversation with him and Martin today where John made it clear he thinks his wife is sleeping with Herschelle from the ship. He grabbed on to my arm while he was talking about it, begging me to get Ziva to spy on them for him without letting Sacha know. The look in his eyes was crazy. Violent. Every cop nerve in my cop body was at attention." He mimed a salute.

"You did not tell me he grabbed you," Ziva said.

Tony nodded vaguely at her, dismissing her concern. "I wasn't sure before because they're pretty gregarious people for drug dealers. But I'm positive that guy could kill someone if they crossed him." He paused. "Also, Martin is fully aware that his marriage is about to end, but he's not sure if he cares."

Ziva blinked at him. "Okay. But going back to the part where John grabbed you and looked violent—"

"We're fine for now," he said, sure he was right. "We haven't pissed them off yet. We're small potatoes."

Ziva stared at him without comprehension. "We are _what?_ "

"We're of no concern to them," he explained.

She looked skeptical. "You just made that up."

He couldn't help smiling as he shook his head. "I'd never mess with you like that."

Ziva made a _'pfft'_ noise. "And you always make fun of my English," she grumbled.

"I do not _always_ make fun of your English," he argued. "I helpfully correct it when you make a mistake or don't understand."

She glared at him without any real malice. "I speak nine languages, you know," she pointed out.

"You speak eight," he countered. "The language of love is not an official, recognized language."

He shouldn't have baited her. Ziva looked him up and down knowingly and hummed.

"We're still here," McGee said loudly.

Tony cleared his throat and returned to the professional conversation. "Right. Where's _el hefe?_ " he wanted to know.

Borin and McGee looked at each other, shrugged, and then looked back to Tony and Ziva.

"Best not to ask," McGee said. "We better let you get back to your buffets and lounging."

Tony narrowed his eyes in irritation. If the guy was better at thinking on his feet, maybe he'd get some more undercover assignments in the future. But until he worked on his stunned bunny nerves when talking his way through a lie, that wouldn't happen. And that wasn't Tony or Ziva's fault.

"We'll send photos!" Tony promised.

"Can't wait," Borin drawled, and then got up and walked away.

McGee remained, and looked at them with suspicion. "You seem very happy," he said accusingly.

"We've had the greatest day, Timmy," Tony returned, overdoing it for effect. "We rode a zip line, and then we did this little roller coaster thing through the tree tops and I went _so fast!_ "

McGee rolled his eyes and shut off the connection. Tony smiled to himself and closed the laptop before turning to Ziva. He was more than happy to put McGee out of his mind for the rest of the day

"Are you proud of yourself?" Ziva asked him.

"Very," he assured her. He stood up and pulled her with him. Time to get back to other more enjoyable activities. "Now. Come here," he beckoned. "There's a spot on your neck that I found last night that I think almost made you cry. I want to find it again."


	14. Chapter 14

And here's your second chapter for the night.

* * *

The sound of the cabin door closing woke Tony for the second time the next morning. The first time he'd woken, Ziva's hands, mouth and naked body had been doing things to his that he enthusiastically approved of. When they were both done, he'd fallen asleep again feeling sore, exhausted and happy. And he was still all those things, but now he was more alert with the potential of an intruder in the room. He turned his head towards the bedroom door as he identified a few potential weapons in the room, but then relaxed at the sight of Ziva carrying two cups of takeout coffee. He hadn't heard her leave, but supposed he shouldn't be surprised.

Damn ninja.

He returned her smile and started to pull back to covers in invitation, but Ziva cocked her head towards the balcony, inviting him to join her. He groaned internally—what did she have against drinking coffee in bed?—but obliged. He threw back the covers as she stepped outside, pulled on his boxers and then shuffled towards the balcony. Ziva held a cup out to him, which he took with a smile and then leaned down to kiss her cheek in thanks.

Man, he _really_ liked kissing her.

"Good morning," she said.

"I thought we already did good morning," he replied as he lowered himself into the seat beside her.

She turned a wide smile on him that kind of made him melt, then turned her head to look out to port. They'd arrived in Samaná around sunrise, and the view of the island was a hell of a thing to wake up to. White sand, clear water, lush jungle, chirping birds and brightly colored buildings spotted the hills. If Tony couldn't be in bed, he was content to sit out there in the sunshine, taking in the view as the coffee slowly did its thing on his very happy but kind of rubbery-feeling body.

He looked across at Ziva and found her watching him with a small smile. He loved it when she turned that smile on him. And he loved it even more now that she was letting him see it rather than hiding it. He reached over to take her hand and leaned his head back against the back of the chair.

"You keep staring at me," he told her.

Ziva's smile grew, and she brought her coffee cup to her lips. "What does that tell you?" she asked before taking a sip.

"I think you might like me."

"I might," she allowed, and then turned her face to look out at the island, giving him an opportunity to watch her. Things had been so easy. Sure, they'd only been doing this for a day and a night, but it was _easy_. It was _natural_. It was everything he'd hoped it would be. He wondered if they would find things as easy when they returned home (no, of course they wouldn't, he knew that), but he was already so committed to this that he didn't think it mattered. He'd move heaven and earth. And unlike Martin Rose, he meant it. Figuratively.

They sat quietly together until they'd both finished their coffee. Then, as soon as he'd put his empty cup down, she turned things to business. He had a feeling this would be how things would go between them as they balanced personal with professional. But that was okay with him. As long as they split their time fairly.

"We should talk plans for today," Ziva said.

"We should," he agreed, and they both sat up straighter and dropped hands. "I think you're right. I think we should hire a car."

Ziva nodded. "But that leaves this location where John and Martin allegedly pick up the stuffed animals open. We should split up."

Tony saw the benefit, but shook his head. "No. We're not splitting up in a foreign country."

"We did yesterday—"

" _Because_ of yesterday," Tony elaborated. "John Paulson is dangerous, I have no doubt. If they see one of us sitting outside their shop and one of us up in the mountains near their secret drug jungle, that's going to end badly for us."

Ziva pursed her lips, but didn't argue.

"I think we should hang back as we leave the ship and let their movements dictate where we go first," he said. "We've got nine hours in port. There's a clock, but it's not ticking so fast that we need to panic."

"We never panic," Ziva countered.

He smirked. "Sometimes we panic, Ziva."

She grunted and picked up her empty coffee cup before standing up. "We should study the roadmap of the island. And you should have a shower."

"But we're on vacation," he returned, making Ziva stop dead and stare at him.

"Are you serious?" she asked. "Do you go without showering on vacation?"

He had the impression that an affirmative response might be a deal breaker in their relationship, so he chuckled as if the suggestion were ridiculous and told a small lie. "No, of course not," he said. A day or two here and there didn't count, did it?

Ziva narrowed her eyes with suspicion, but let it go and returned to the cabin. Tony picked up his cup and joined her.

They spent ten minutes working out the route from the car rental place they knew was next to the port up to the Prestons' property, and then Tony jumped into the shower and got ready to disembark the ship in record time. As planned, they hung around the back of the crowd of people waiting to get off the ship and made sure that the Paulsons and Roses were well ahead of them. They kept eyes on the two couples all the way up the pier, and they had their answer about what they were going to do with their day when they saw them get into a waiting van and leave the area.

"I guess we're going on a scenic drive," Tony said.

The car rental stand was next to the pier as expected, and their argument about who would sit in the driver's seat of the soft top Jeep was short thanks to Ziva's unusually agreeable mood. Within 20 minutes of disembarking the ship they were in the car and already making their way away from the central tourist town and up into the jungle.

"I could live here," Tony said as he slipped his sunglasses on against the morning sunshine. "Just hang out in the jungle or by the beach and eat pineapple."

Ziva looked up from the map displayed on her tablet. "And harvest coca?"

Tony shrugged one shoulder. "You've got to make a living somehow, Ziva."

"And here I thought your long career in law enforcement made you a pillar of virtue."

He held up his index finger. "That's part of the beauty of the plan," he said, going along with it. "No one would ever suspect me of being involved in illegal activity."

Ziva snorted and looked back down at the tablet. "Of course not. We have never suspected or arrested a law enforcement officer for crimes ever before."

He grinned at her sarcasm. "Gibbs'd find a way to get us off."

"Us?" Ziva questioned, then gestured to her right. "Take the next right."

Tony slowed for the corner and let a red truck laden with crates of fruit pass before accelerating again. "You don't want to hang out in the jungle, eat pineapple and harvest coca?"

"I think there are a few more things I would like to achieve in my life before retiring into the drug trade."

Tony didn't doubt it. And he was joking anyway. But it occurred to him that they'd never really talked about their plans for the future. He didn't know how long she intended to stay with NCIS, or whether she wanted to try her hand at something else. But if they were going to be a team in the personal sense from now on, then he should probably find out. He made a mental note to bring that up later once he had his own answers to those questions.

For the time being, he joked with her. "Is one of those things competing on _American Ninja Warrior?_ "

She turned her head to look at him. "I would be an excellent competitor, Tony."

He smirked and elected not to argue, because he thought she might just be right about that.

It took them a little over half an hour to navigate their way through the steep, winding and degraded roads in the jungle to where they believed Rodney and Nadine had their coca plant farm. Tony had his eyes peeled for a driveway, but Ziva was the one who saw the thin dirt track leading off from the road as they came around a bend.

"That's it," she called, pointing across Tony's body. "With the blue mailbox."

Tony turned his head but they were already past it. He tried to find it in the rear vision mirror. "I can't turn around here," he said. The road was too thin and bendy.

Ziva consulted her tablet. "There is a lookout about a mile ahead," she told him. "But I do not think we can just drive up to their house."

Tony agreed. When they got to the lookout, he pulled over and cut the engine. Instead of taking in the incredible view of the valley below them, he took off his sunglasses and leaned across to look at Ziva's tablet. She had a Google earth image of their location displayed.

"The driveway appears to be about a mile long," she told him, and traced a faint line between trees with her finger. "Dense foliage all the way up to what looks like it must be the main house." She pointed at a dwelling with a red tiled roof, and then pointed to two other buildings. One was small and sat beside the main house. The other was half the size of the house and about 500 yards away. "These appear to be the only other buildings on the property. I think the larger one further away from the house is where we should look for signs of a drug lab."

"Leaf mulchers, cement mixers, kerosene, acid," Tony rattled off, then sighed. "I mean, it wouldn't be unusual for a remote property like this to have those things anyway."

"No," Ziva agreed.

"And honestly, I don't think we can just walk up to the house any more than we can drive up," he said. "If they're really drug dealers or manufacturers or whatever, they're going to have security. Cameras, dogs, machine guns. And we can't just head up there in plain sight and act like we got lost and need help. The Paulsons and Roses are going to get suspicious if they see us popping up everywhere."

Ziva tilted her head back against the seat as she looked at him. "We could crash the car and go up there to get help."

Tony shook his head. "That's your plan for everything," he pointed out. "It never works."

"It sometimes works."

"We're not crashing the car."

Ziva looked back at her tablet. "Then how do you feel about a hike?"

Tony pursed his lips. It was hot and humid and he felt itchy just looking at the plants around them. "Maybe we should crash the car."

She grinned, but held the tablet up for him. "We could approach via the neighboring property."

He sighed. It wasn't his idea of a good time, but it was better than the alternative. "Let's go," he said. "And hope the neighbors aren't gun runners."

As Ziva worked out their route, Tony put two water bottles in his backpack and locked the car. Ziva carried her tablet in her hand, and she led him across the road and up a small embankment into the jungle. He swiped at a tree branch before it whacked him in the face.

"I wonder what kind of beautiful and exotic animals hang out in the jungle that could kill us in 30 seconds," he said.

"I would watch out for snakes," Ziva said, although she didn't sound particularly concerned. "Spiders, definitely. And scorpions. But most of the other animals are harmless, I think. Butterflies, mosquitoes, frogs, lizards, iguanas—"

"Iguanas?" he repeated. He thought back what felt like a hundred years ago to one morning he'd woken up in Cuba with an iguana in his bed.

"They should be harmless if you do not provoke them," Ziva told him.

"Great." He eyed the plants around them and then her bare legs. Ziva would usually wear long pants and heavy boots for this kind of expedition. But Zara was on vacation, and she favored shorts and canvas tennis shoes. "I hope the plants aren't poisonous. Because as nice as your bare legs are to look at, they're extremely vulnerable right now."

"Yes," Ziva acknowledged, and glanced back at him. "But stings would benefit from some rubbing alcohol, would they not?"

Like the rubbing alcohol that had killed Will Crawford. "Sure. But there has to be a less painful way to catch a killer."

It took them half an hour and Tony was sweating like a fountain when they arrived, but Ziva was eventually able to navigate them through the jungle to where they needed to be. The chain link fence between the two properties was about ten feet tall, and Tony looked up and down for the presence of cameras, dogs, drones or whatever the hell else people who were involved in the manufacture of drugs might use. As far as he could tell, it was all clear.

Ziva leaned her ear towards the fence then shook her head at him. "I do not think it is electrified."

"That's vague enough to be satisfying," he said, and then bit his tongue as Ziva reached out to touch it. When she didn't scream or suddenly start smelling like roast chicken, he decided it was probably safe. He craned his neck to see through the jungle on the other side. "I don't see anything. How about you?"

Ziva raised herself on her tiptoes as if that would help, but shook her head. "No." she looked down at the tablet. "We should be close, though." She cocked her head at him and he followed her along the fence line for a few more minutes until they came to a break in the vegetation. She pressed her shoulder into his chest as they both tried to peer through the small window.

"I think I see something white," he said.

Ziva moved her head around. "A building?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Ziva set the tablet down on the ground by the fence and then twirled her finder at him. "Bend down."

He frowned at her for a moment and then caught on and sighed. He set his backpack down, took a breath, and then crouched down and held onto the fence so that he wouldn't fall on his ass.

Ziva touched his damp head briefly " _Toda_ ," she said, and then slung her leg over his back and maneuvered herself onto his shoulders. "Okay."

Tony took another breath and then engaged every muscle he had to help his stand up again without grunting like Maria Sharapova. When he was upright again, he bounced as much as he could to shift Ziva into a more comfortable position (relatively speaking), and then held on to the fence.

"Do you think," he asked breathlessly, "that other partners get on each others' shoulders as much as you get on mine? I'm thinking back over all the partners I had before you, and I'm positive that none of them got on my shoulders. But you always seem to be there."

"Perhaps I just like you being between my legs," Ziva said deliberately. "Can you take a step to the left?"

Tony closed his eyes and shook his head before taking the step. "I appreciate the sentiment, sweetcheeks. But I had something else in mind."

"So did I." She took her cell phone out of her pocket and aimed it through the fence.

"Can you see anything?"

"I am trying to zoom in with the camera," she told him. "I think…there are two men, but I cannot be sure who they are. They are just standing by the white building and talking." Her hand dropped down to touch his cheek gently. "Can you take two more steps to the left?"

Tony gritted his teeth and groaned, but managed to move her where she wanted to be. "Today would've been a good yoghurt and fruit for breakfast day," he mentioned. "Although I'm sure the pancakes were delicious."

Ziva tugged his hair. He kissed the inside of her bare thigh in return.

"You've got bites and scratches all over your legs," he told her.

"If asked about them, I will just tell our ladies that we went on a hike."

"You're diabolical," he drawled. "Have you got everything you need up there?"

"A bottle of water would be lovely," Ziva told him.

Tony shook his head. "No, I meant have you gathered all the information we need?" There was an ache creeping up the centre of his back that he knew would need more than a massage to correct. And he felt a twitch in his neck that didn't bode well for the future.

"No," Ziva said, her tone completely devoid of urgency. She shifted her foot and accidentally kicked him in the side. "Oh. Sorry."

Tony let out another groan. "You definitely owe me a massage now. A _nice_ one."

"I promise I will help you ease some of your tension later," she said.

Tony would have been pleased with the response had there not been an insect buzzing around his face. He shifted his head around and lifted his hand to swipe at it. He missed and slapped Ziva's thigh instead. "Sorry."

"There are a few more people there now," Ziva told him. "Perhaps a dozen. They are all moving around as if they are carrying out tasks of some sort. They do not appear to be speaking to each other. It is not a social gathering."

Tony made another swipe at the bug, and then grabbed the fence before he overbalanced. He swore under his breath.

"We could jump the fence to take a closer look," she suggested.

Tony let out a long breath and dug his heel into the ground. "I'd rather not get caught out that was, Ziva."

"Oh! Two of the workers are carrying boxes to a car."

Tony tried to see through the trees, but it was no use. "How big are the boxes? Bigger than a breadbox?"

"Is that slang for something?"

His eyes went heavenward. "No. It's a box you keep bread in."

"I do not know," she said dismissively. "It is small enough to be carried in one hand."

Tony rolled his eyes at the vague description as Ziva took a few photos, and then she put her phone back in her pocket.

"Okay. You can put me down."

Tony bent down just a little, and then Ziva jumped from her perch and landed with a soft thud. It was only Tony's pride that kept his from collapsing to the ground and crying with relief. Ziva turned her back and walked about ten paces away, and whether she was giving him time to recover or really wanted to check for another vantage point, Tony wasn't sure. But he didn't care. His face pinched as he rolled his neck and shoulders and tried to stretch his back. He wondered if he'd be able to get some muscle relaxants from the ship's doctor.

When Ziva came back she arched an eyebrow at him. "Okay?"

"Let's agree not to do that again for a while."

"You should be pleased I am not McGee," she said.

"I am pleased by that literally every day in a thousand different ways," he told her.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket again but took a moment to kiss his cheek before showing him the photos she had taken. There were a few of the two men she'd spoken of initially, and Tony couldn't tell any better than her whether they were John or Martin. She swiped to the next shots of the workers, and one of them approaching a car with a box in his hand.

"Yeah, that's about the size of a breadbox," he told her.

"I am sure that information will be useful to me in the future."

He nudged her with his arm. "What kind of car is that? Red Jeep? That's not the care they got into at the pier."

"No."

He bent to pick up his backpack and her tablet, and was relieved when the muscles in his back didn't seize up completely. "Okay," he said, still with some pain evident in his voice. "I think we should get back to keep watch over the street in town where John and Martin got the bears last time. We don't want to miss the easy surveillance part."

Ziva looked longingly over her shoulder at the property, but nodded. "Okay. Let's go eat. I'm starving."

…

They took a seat at the same table or thereabouts that Will and Alicia Crawford had been sitting at when they captured John and Martin walking down the street with teddy bears under their arms. There was a toy shop in between a baker and a jeweler on the other side of the road, which Ziva would keep her eye on as much as possible throughout the afternoon. Sterling and Jolene sat a few tables over to their left, and when Tony and Ziva waved politely they both got up to come over and say hello.

"Are you enjoying yourselves?" Jolene asked, placing a gentle hand on the back of Ziva's shoulder.

"Very much," Ziva said. "Tom and I went for a hike this morning."

"That wasn't actually that enjoyable," Tony said.

Ziva winked at him. "What did you do with your morning?"

"We went down to the markets," Jolene said. "We go every time we're here. There's so much you can buy. Food, clothes, jewelry, furniture, art, car parts…"

Tony raised his eyebrows. "I have been looking for a new alternator for my Mustang."

Ziva shot him a look to tone down the sarcasm, and took the opportunity to look over his shoulder at the door to the toy shop. There was no movement yet.

"You should head down there," Sterling told them. "They close up at 2 pm. And after that you should definitely go for a swim. The water here is so clear and warm. I think it has healing properties."

"Is that a local legend?" Tony asked.

"No, no," Sterling said. "That's just my opinion. I always feel full of vim and vigor afterwards!" He winked cheekily at Jolene, and she giggled.

Ziva cleared her throat. "Well. Tom is feeling a little sore after our hike, so perhaps we will take your advice."

The waiter arrived then with Tony and Ziva's drinks, and Jolene took Sterling's hand.

"We'll leave you to your lunch," she said. "Enjoy! The food here is wonderful. Oh, but don't have the lobster."

"Why not?"

Sterling leaned in a bit and lowered his voice. "Someone always gets sick," he told them. "Last time at least half a dozen people ended up in bed with food poisoning. Best to be on the safe side."

"Thank you for the tip," Ziva said, and Sterling and Jolene returned to their table.

"Food poisoning, Zara," Tony said. "You hear that?"

"Alicia said they didn't eat seafood on shore," she reminded him. "And he had ingested isopropyl."

"Yeah."

She looked over his shoulder again and sat up straight with interest. "Red Jeep just pulled up," she told him, and then reached for her phone. She lined it up so that it looked like she was filming Tony when really she was filming the car, and hit record. "Why don't you tell me a story, honey?"

"There was an old woman who lived in a shoe," Tony began. "And she had so many cats that animal control was called and they had to take a bunch of them away from her."

"I do not like this story."

"Did I tell you the one about he old man who built boats in his basement?"

Ziva chuckled as the Jeep came to a stop. "You realize the man you speak of, who is not that old, is likely to watch this video, yes?"

"It was going to be a story about heroes, _Zara_ ," Tony told her. "You're the one jumping to conclusions to the contrary."

"The Paulsons and the Roses are getting out of the Jeep," she told him, narrating the scene unfolding behind him.

"All four of them?"

"Yes." The camera panned far enough to catch the side of Tony's face. He was wearing a serious expression that made her sigh. "Tom, please try to look like you're having a wonderful time with me."

Tony shot her a big DiNozzo smile. "Having the time of my life, sweetcheeks."

"John and Martin have retrieved two boxes from the trunk of the Jeep," she told him. "They appear to be the same boxes that we witnessed men loading into the car at Rodney and Nadine's property."

"What about Sacha and Julie?"

Ziva took her eyes off her cell phone screen and looked up and down the street. "They are walking down the street together." She panned the camera to catch them as they met up with another woman with a similar build and hair to Ziva's. "They have met up with another woman and they are heading to the beach. I am not sure where she came from."

"Nadine?" Tony suggested.

Ziva shrugged. She did not know what Nadine looked like.

Tony casually looked over his shoulder as Ziva returned the camera to the shop. "The other two haven't been met by anyone?"

"No," Ziva said. "They are walking into the shop on their own with the boxes."

"No one else hanging around?"

"Not that I can see." The door to the shop closed, and Ziva stopped recording and put down her phone. "Well. That was exciting," she drawled.

"At least we know that the Paulsons and Roses were at Rodney and Nadine's property," Tony said.

Ziva arched an eyebrow as she reached for the menu. "And what does that tell us?"

"Nothing useful," Tony admitted. "Yet."

" _Nothing useful_ seems to be the theme of this investigation."

"And we know they took packages from the property," Tony added. "If we could get into their rooms, we could find those bears we expect them to walk out of that shop with and find out if they're stuffed with what we think they're stuffed with."

Ziva nodded along. "Yes. But did you bring a drug detection kit with you?"

"No. Did you?"

"No."

Tony pursed his lips at her. "Maybe we should have done that."

Ziva shrugged. "It will not be easy to get into their rooms, but I am sure we could do it." She paused. "I am not sure how admissible the evidence would be in court."

Tony sipped his drink. "Hmm. Good point. Let's leave that on the backburner for now and focus on trying to get some drugs from Julie."

Ziva flipped her menu shut. "Our activities are not normal."

Tony winked at her. "Stick with me, sweetcheeks," he started, and then lost his train of thought when he saw Herschelle cutting through the tables behind Ziva. He grabbed for his cell phone and held up it. "Smile for me, honey."

Ziva played along, and Tony did get in a sneaky shot of her before reframing the camera on Herschelle. When he put his phone down, Ziva picked up hers again and started filming. "This may confirm that Herschelle is their accomplice on the ship."

"Hope so," Tony said, and then smiled for her as if she was taking a photo of him.

Ziva watched Herschelle cross the street and walk up a few doors. "He is approaching the same door that John and Martin entered," she narrated. "And he has also entered."

"Great," Tony said. "With any luck they'll all come out carrying teddy bears with _I'm a decoy bear stuffed with cocaine_ on it's little t-shirt."

Ziva stopped recording and put down her phone. "I have always been attracted to your optimism."

Tony's eyebrows went up. "Really?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No. I have found it exceptionally irritating at times."

Tony shrugged without offence. "That's what I thought."

Ziva kept her eye on the door for the next half hour while she and Tony ate, drank and talked about other people they'd seen on the ship. Even with the surveillance angle it was weirdly normal, and Ziva wondered if this was what their future weekends would look like. Lunches out in nice, low key restaurants in the summertime, perhaps taking advantage of their weekends off to go out of town. Finding a shared favorite place to visit that they would return to over the years.

She watched him as he looked out over the beach, sunglasses on, skin already tanned from the Caribbean sun, and his hand stretched across the table so that his fingers met hers. Her stomach did a little flip, and for a moment she wasn't really sure if it was from excitement or nerves. It was probably a mixture of both, she decided. She was excited to be with him in the way that she'd wanted to be for a long time, and so far, neither of them had done anything stupid (as she had been expecting). The nerves came from the knowledge that they had only been at this a few days, and that they were hardly living their normal lives. Perhaps the reason neither of them had done anything stupid was because the success of this case relied on their ability to convincingly pull off the appearance of a long term, committed and healthy relationship. What if things did not continue that way when they returned to DC? They were both stubborn and wanted the last word on things, so what if that meant they couldn't stop themselves from fighting about minor, petty things in the bullpen? Or what if the stress of proving to Gibbs that he didn't need to worry about any of this got to them, and they just imploded the day they got home?

Worse. What if she found out that lunches in nice, low key restaurants in the summertime and weekends away in their favorite little place bored her to tears?

She bit the inside of her lip with worry, and whether Tony sensed something was up or he just turned his gaze back to her then for no reason, she didn't know. But he did, and he smiled, and he turned his hand palm up so that he could hold her hand and run his thumb along hers. The nervous feeling in her stomach went away, and she was just left with excitement. So what if they occasionally fought over petty things in the bullpen? They did that now, didn't they? They'd be fine.

"You're wearing a very serious expression for a woman on vacation," he said lightly.

Ziva automatically smiled, but it was sincere. "This is just my resting face," she told him.

Tony shook his head. "No. Your resting face is a little more beatific."

She snorted. That was likely. She glanced over at the toy shop again, and her heart jumped when she saw Herschelle stepping outside. Without trying to be too obvious, she grabbed her cell phone and lined it up so that it would look to anyone else that she was filming Tony.

"Herschelle is leaving," she told him. "Alone." She frowned at what she was seeing. "He looks angry, and he is wiping at his lip and looking at the back of his hand."

Tony sat forward. "Maybe punches were thrown," he suggested. "Maybe John and Herschelle played a little _Fight Club_ in there over Sacha."

Ziva hummed an agreement, and filmed Herschelle as he walked back across the street towards the restaurant Tony and Ziva were in. She filmed him only up to the moment that it would have become obvious, and then put her phone down just as Tony picked up his. But he didn't end up filming.

"He's just leaving the way he came," Tony told her after Herscelle moved past them. "Clothes are pretty pristine still. Doesn't look like he's been in a fight."

"He is in much better physical condition than John or Martin," Ziva pointed out. Tony raised an eyebrow at her, but Ziva didn't back down. "He is!" she insisted. "Did you look at his arms?"

"Being ripped is overrated," Tony said dismissively.

"Of course," Ziva said. "But it is certainly pleasant to look at sometimes."

Tony didn't respond to that. He tipped back the last of his drink and was reaching for Ziva's glass when she spotted the door to the toy shop open again.

"The others are leaving," she told him, and reached for her phone once again. She started filming just as John closed the door to the shop, and he and Martin started walking down the street, each carrying a large teddy bear.

"Have they got bears?" Tony asked.

Ziva nodded. "Yes." She panned the camera to keep up with them. "Smile for me, darling."

Tony gave her another big smile, not that she really captured it on camera. "Hey, did you know that Tim McGee once ate a foot-long meatball sub out of the trash in the break room?"

The question was so strange and unexpected that Ziva glanced at him to frown. "What are you talking about?" she asked. "I sincerely doubt that ever happened."

Tony shrugged. "No. But he'll see this, and I just want him to know that I'm thinking of him while I'm sitting out here on the beach."

Ziva clucked her tongue. "Tom."

Tony chuckled before pushing back his chair. "Let's go, _Zara_. We don't want to miss the entertainment we signed up for."

They paid the bill quickly, waved at Sterling and Jolene and then headed out onto the main street in the direction John and Martin had gone. Ziva slipped on her sunglasses before Tony took her hand, making her stomach flip again, and they played their part as tourists amongst hundreds of others strolling along the beach promenade and taking in the sights. It just so happened that the sights Tony and Ziva were taking in were of possible illegal activity instead of the island paradise. And their version of a stroll was more of a brisk walk as they tried to put eyes on John and Martin. She spotted the two men beneath the promenade making their way across to the pier and tugged on Tony's hand. He grunted in acknowledgement, and they veered right to take a flight of stone steps down to the pier.

"What is the plan?" she asked when they got within about 30 feet of John and Martin. "I do not think we can follow them all the way to their cabins."

"I want to see how they're getting the bears aboard," Tony said. "Every time we embark we've got to go through the same security screening. I want to see how they're getting past it."

"Assuming they are smuggling something," Ziva felt the need to add, even though she knew Tony was as aware of that as she was.

"Right. Assuming."

She sighed and swayed closer to him, and a wave of his familiar smell coming off his warmed skin hit her. The hair on her arms stood up, and she enjoyed the feeling (and the smell) while keeping on topic. "I am beginning to get concerned that we are on a wild duck chase."

Tony chuckled, and she knew that meant that she had made a mistake with the idiom. But he didn't correct her. "Me too," he said. "And Vance and Gibbs will be pissed. But at least we know the trip wasn't all for nothing." He lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles, and Ziva smiled at his point.

"No, it was not." The rising hair on her arms morphed into tingles that spread through her body. She was looking forward to getting back onto the ship that afternoon, but they had a bit more work to do first.

They quickened their pace again as John and Martin approached the foot bridge to take them back onto the ship, and tried to time it so that they were close enough to see them going through security screening a few feet into the ship, but not close enough that they would be seen. They were almost at the top of the footbridge and Ziva's eyes were trying to adjust from the brightness of the day outside to the much darker light inside the ship, but she was sure that she saw both men put the bears on the x-ray machine before they walked through the metal detector. As one man watched the x-ray screen, John chatted to the other member of security who was standing by the machine.

"You done for the day?" the security guard asked him.

"Too much sun," John said. "Gonna head to the ice skating rink for a bit to cool off."

"You skate?" the security guard asked, not quite succeeding in keeping the incredulity out of his voice. Ziva smirked.

"No," John admitted. "But I'm real good at sitting on the sidelines while other people do."

Martin picked up his bear that had been cleared by the machine, and John picked up the other that came through right on its furry heels.

"Enjoy yourselves," the guard told them, and John and Martin thanked him and walked off casually into the ship.

Tony and Ziva quickly backed up and walked back down the footbridge onto the pier. A member of staff had appeared there, and Ziva flashed him a smile.

"He can't make up his mind," she told him. "Ice skating or the beach. Is there really any competition?"

The staffer smiled politely but said nothing, and Tony and Ziva started heading back up the pier.

"Thanks for that," Tony said when they were out of earshot.

"You are welcome."

"So, those bears were x-rayed."

"Yes."

"And one guard was watching the screen."

"Perhaps for the benefit of security cameras?" Ziva suggested. "If those bears were stuffed with anything, that guard must be in on the smuggling operation."

"We're going to have to try to get an ID on him."

"What about the other one?"

Tony shrugged a shoulder. "Hard to say. We should check on him anyway."

At the end of the pier they headed towards the beach area. After a strenuous morning hiking in the stifling humidity and being eaten by bugs, the fine white sand, palm trees and clear blue water called to her. She took it as a gift from God, then, that when they reached the far end of the beach she spotted something interesting.

"Sacha and Julie are over there with their friend," she said to Tony, nodding towards the women. All three were lounging on pool lilos in the flat sea and chatting.

"Then we should keep watch on them," Tony said. "From a distance. But a distance that involves us also being in the water. Because it is hot, Ziva. And we spent the morning getting sweaty and gross."

She smirked to herself, pleased that they were on the same wavelength. She tilted her face up to his. "Take it off, DiNozzo," she said quietly, and brushed a kiss to his lips before walking off across the sand to the little water sports hut on the edge of the sand. She collected towels for them, decided against a pool lilo of her own, and by the time she dumped the towels with Tony's backpack he was nearly waist deep in the water. She stripped down to her red bikini and went after him, and then waited until he turned around in the chest deep warm water to look at her before she ducked below the surface and swam towards him. When she got close enough she reached out to touch his legs, and then scaled up his body as she resurfaced. He was grinning by the time she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips, and he held her tight as he kissed her.

"I like the climbing monkey side of you," he told her.

Ziva chuckled. "I thought you did not like it when I climbed you this morning."

"That wasn't as cozy," he pointed out, and took a few more steps back into deeper water. "Just to repeat what I said before, I'm just so pleased that Borin wasn't able to make it."

"I am sure she would have made a most suitable substitute."

He leaned in to press kisses long the line of her jaw. "There is no suitable substitute for you."

The comment made her stomach flip again, and she smiled into his shoulder and chuckled. Tony pulled his head back to look at her.

"Don't believe me?"

"Yes," she said honestly. She believed that _he_ believed it, but tried to explain her reaction. "It is just strange that you are now so sincere when we have both tried very hard in the past not to be."

Tony nodded easily. "Ah. Yeah, I've found myself about to make a cutting remark at you and pulling myself up."

"Don't," she implored. "I do not want us to change." She paused for a millisecond to reconsider. "No, that is not true. I do want us to be more sincere. But I enjoy our verbal sparring. Making fun of each other. I know when you are joking and when you are not, and I think it is the same for you."

He tilted his head from side to side. "Generally," he said at length, leaving a little room for debate. Ziva made a mental note of that and told herself she had to do better.

"I do not want to lose that side of us," she told him, and then shrugged. "Plus, McGee and Gibbs will know immediately that there is something going on if we are only kind and respectful towards one another."

"I can't argue with that." He lifted a wet hand to brush his knuckles over her cheek. "But eventually McGee and Gibbs are going to work it out, and they're just going to have to live with it."

"Are we going to tell them right away?" The idea didn't sit well with her, and she was pleased when Tony shook his head no.

"Let's give it a little while?" he suggested.

"Okay," she agreed. "But it may become obvious. You are very tactile."

"Am I?" he asked innocently as he ran his hand up and down her back.

"Are you aware of how much you kiss my cheek?" When he pursed his lips and looked a little unsure of what her feelings on that might be, she quickly told him. "I like it. Not at work, obviously. But generally."

"I wasn't planning on getting tactile at work," he told her. "Although I'm not sure about you. You're a lot more hands-on than I expected."

Ziva pecked his lips. "Well. I like to keep certain truths about myself between me and my partner," she told him, and then scaled her way around his body until she was wrapped around him from behind. She hooked her chin over his shoulder and closed her eyes, and then chuckled as Tony made the effort to swim forward. He managed it eventually and she kissed him behind the ear in recognition of a job well done.

"Jolene and Sterling are out here too," Tony told her.

Ziva opened her eyes, glanced around, could not immediately see them, and so closed her eyes again.

"Can you imagine being married for 45 years?" he said. "They got married in the 60s. They got married before I was born. And they still enjoy each other's company and are hot for each other."

She ran her lips across the back of his shoulder. "I think it is nice."

"Yeah. It's a long time." He paused, and Ziva smiled when he went on. Sometimes it annoyed her when he got an idea stuck in his head and just kept talking it out. Now wasn't one of those times. "I wonder how often that happens these days. I mean, you hear stories on the news about the old couple celebrating their 70th wedding anniversary, but they're those human interest stories, right? And people are interested because being married for 70 years isn't normal. It's extraordinary."

"Yes, it is."

"How many people can comprehend that?" he went on. "A lot of men don't even live much longer than 70." He paused, and then sounded a little sad. "And then you hear those stories about the couples who have been together for 70 years, and then one of them dies and the other one follows within weeks or months because they just don't know how to live without the other person. Can you imagine that?"

Ziva opened her eyes as his voice from years ago came back to her. _Couldn't live without you, I guess._ She pressed her face to his neck briefly and thanked God that he came for her.

"We wasted too much time," he said suddenly.

She drew a deep breath as weight settled in her chest. She knew he was right, and she regretted it. "Yes."

He twisted his head back to look at her out of the corner of his eye. "I'm going to remember that," he told her. "When it gets hard and we screw up. I'm going to remind myself that we already wasted too much time, and we've got to make up for it."

With that, the weight lifted again. Her partner was a desperate romantic. And he was stubborn and determined and probably the most loyal person she had ever met. She had no doubt that he would throw himself at this relationship and fight with every breath. It dawned on her that she had a big responsibility here to meet him halfway, toe-to-toe. He deserved it, and so did she.

"I will too," she told him, and then allowed herself to joke with him as she normally would. "Of course you may change your mind on this after you see the full extent of my knife collection."

He twisted his head back again, sharply. "What? How big is it?"

"Impressive," she purred.

Tony shook his head with resignation. "I promise to try to accept your knife collection."

She knew he would. "Tony, some people are lucky enough to find their partner when they are teenagers. It is unusual. But that does not mean that the rest of us will not feel the same kind of 70-year love for our own partners." She cocked her head to try to see his expression and found him staring off across the sea with a small smile tugging at his lips. "There is romance in being able to say that you got it right on your first attempt, and that you have not wavered in that decision for 70 years. But I think there is also romance in saying that I fell in love with my best friend. And that we have withstood hell. And that we would not give up on each other, even when we tried, or when people told us we should." She paused to swallow with a tight throat as she got more emotional and open that she had intended. "I think that is special too. Perhaps it will be worthy of a human interest story on the news one day."

She felt and heard him take a shaky breath, and he lifted his hand to grip her arm across his shoulders. "You fell in love with your best friend?"

Ziva froze for a moment. They were only three days into this, and even though it was true it seemed far too early to make such admissions. But surely he already knew how she felt. Didn't he? "Yes," she said thickly, and then held her breath while she waited for his response.

He pulled her arm away from him, and Ziva loosened her grip so that he could turn around in the circle of her arms to face her. He gave her that private, weighty look again, the one that made her soft and melty, and pulled her close again. "Me too," he said, and leaned in to kiss her with warm, salty lips that made her quiver.

They would never catch up to the number of Sterling and Jolene's anniversaries. But so what? They had their own thing, forged through blood, sweat, tears, trust, death, nightmares, bad takeout and paperwork.

Sterling and Jolene could suck it.

* * *

#NeverHappen #FuuuuuckYoouuuuuuuu #HonestlyNotSurprisedThough


	15. Chapter 15

I'm sorry, I did actually intend to post this when I said I would but I wanted to change some things and it took me a while to get around to it. I've got more changes to make to the next chapter, which I may get to later in the week. Enjoy.

* * *

It was hard not to notice the tension at the dinner table that evening. They'd gathered for another dinner in the main dining room, sitting down at the same table they'd shared on the first night. As before, they were all dressed up, the chandeliers were sparkling, the linens were pristine and the table wear shining. All of Tony and Ziva's dining companions had big glasses of alcohol in front of them, but unlike last time there wasn't a whole lot of laughter coming from them. And, more importantly to Ziva, John Paulson definitely had the beginnings of a bruise marking his chin.

But Tony and Ziva ploughed through the dinner as if they hadn't noticed anything was off. Tony carried the weight of the conversation—sometimes Ziva really was grateful for his verbal gifts—and she gave him the repartee he needed to keep it moving. Sacha and Julie answered direct questions politely, but getting them to really engage was like pulling teeth. By the time their mains were cleared away, Ziva had enough and gave Tony a look. They needed something useful. He reached over to hold her hand and gave her a smile. The expression of an adoring husband to their tablemates, but a signal to his partner to go right ahead.

"So, what did you do with your day?" she asked, looking between them all. "Did you catch up with your friends?"

"Yeah," Sacha said, glancing between the others before offering Ziva a quick smile. "Yeah, it was good to see them." Although she fought it, she sounded flat and her smile didn't reach her eyes. "How about you?"

Ziva sighed internally at Sacha turning it back on them so quickly.

"We went for a hike, actually," Tony told them. He squeezed her hand, and she took the cue to calm down and play along.

"It was so beautiful," she enthused. "Very hot, but we saw all these beautiful butterflies and this waterfall."

"Yeah, we should have spent more time there," Tony went on, following her made up story. "But we didn't have bug spray, which was really stupid. Zara was only in shorts and her legs look like a crime scene."

"Bug bites," Ziva told them, and looked at Tony. "So many. I think we're going to be sleeping in separate beds tonight, or I'll drive you crazy with the scratching."

"You got any rubbing alcohol?" Sacha piped up.

Rubbing alcohol. The substance Ducky found in Will Crawford's blood, and that Tony and Ziva had joked about using today. Ziva felt her heart jump, and she thought she might've gripped Tony's hand hard enough to cause pain. But kept her expression neutral. "No. I did not think to bring any."

"I bring it everywhere," Sacha said, and then reached down for her clutch. She pulled out a travel-sized bottle and handed it to Ziva. "Here. You'll thank me."

Ziva took the bottle and stared at it, stunned that she may have just been handed Will Crawford's murder weapon. How many people carried rubbing alcohol around in their handbags? "Thank you," Ziva said with a sincere smile. "I am sure this will make the night easier."

"Don't want to start sleeping in separate beds," John threw in, piping up for perhaps only the second or third till all night. "Once you start, you'll never stop." He took a long, bitter sip of his drink.

"Zara does snore pretty badly," Tony said, trying to keep things from fracturing. They wanted to keep everyone at the table as long as possible.

"I do not snore," Ziva insisted. Tony just stared at her, as if he couldn't believe she had the gall to argue the point. She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Well, you sleep through most of it," she pointed out.

"Sometimes," he muttered, then moved the conversation along. "Anyway, we had a great lunch when we got back at some place by the water. The Castaway, or something?"

Julie groaned. "Oh, I hope you don't get sick. A lot of people get sick when they eat there."

Ziva pretended to look worried. "Oh, no! How long does it take for food poisoning to develop?"

"Few hours," Julie said. "If you're not feeling queasy now, you'll probably be fine."

"I do feel kind of queasy," Tony said.

Ziva eyed him. "That is because you ate one and a half entrees and about a pound of pasta."

"You make a good point."

Sacha picked up her wine glass and pointed at them. "Say, weren't you at the beach as well?" she asked. "I thought I saw you two there getting all hot and heavy with each other." She winked, and Ziva felt her cheeks warm.

"It's hard not to get carried away in the moment," Tony said, and lifted their hands to press a kiss to her knuckles.

"I vaguely remember the feeling," John drawled, and then ignored the glares that Sacha and Julie shot him. He raised his eyebrows at Martin, who smirked back at him.

"We did not see you," Ziva lied to Sacha, before looking between John and Martin. "But I think we saw you two walking back to the ship early. It looked like you were carrying teddy bears." She laughed as if she thought she was probably wrong about that.

"Just some presents for home," John said.

Ziva nodded, waiting for him to continue. Unsurprisingly, he didn't. "Do you have nieces or nephews?" she prompted.

"Something like that," John said, and then pushed back from the table. "Excuse me. Me and Marty are going to skip dessert and head for the bar."

"Isn't that a little rude, honey?" Sacha asked, scowling at him.

John rubbed his bruised chin in what looked like a deliberate gesture. "You'd know, sweetie," he returned, and then he and Martin left the table.

"I'm so sorry about that," Julie said as Sacha threw back the rest of her wine and then immediately refilled her glass. "They're just grumpy old men."

"Perhaps they could have some of your party product," Ziva suggested with a smile. "That should perk them right up."

Julie chuckled uncomfortably. "Right. Maybe."

Ziva glanced at Tony, and then leaned across the table and lowered her voice. "So, did you manage to get your hands on anything?" she asked hopefully. "The more I've thought about it, the more keen I am."

"It's been a long time between parties," Tony said ruefully.

"Yeah, then maybe it's not the best idea to start up again, you know?" Julie said. "If you're not used to it anymore."

"Oh, no, we'll be fine," Ziva assured her. The bottle of rubbing alcohol that Sacha had just given her was a nice bit of supporting evidence, but they weren't going to be able to prove that the rubbing alcohol in Will Crawford's blood came from the same bottle. They needed to get their hands on the drugs they through the group was smuggling to make arrests for trafficking, and then they could press them on Will Crawford's murder.

"Yeah, we're just looking for a little fun," Tony backed her up. "We're not looking to get completely messed up."

"It takes so much longer for Tom to get over hangovers these days," Ziva told them. "I don't want to lose him for three days while there are beautiful islands to explore."

Sacha snorted. "That's how it begins," she said, and Ziva realized that her glass was empty again. "You start doing things separately because it's easier than arguing about doing things together, and then a couple of years later you realize that you don't do _anything_ together."

"You all cruise together," Ziva pointed out.

"Not necessarily by choice," Sacha said, and Ziva was reminded of their conversation a few days back that left her with the impression that she and Julie were done travelling with their husbands. She gave Sacha a sympathetic smile, but Sacha missed it. She was refilling her glass yet again.

"But we have each other," Julie said, and Sacha tipped her glass to that.

"You seem like very good friends," Tony said. "And I get the feeling you make a lot of other friends when you cruise."

"Like us," Ziva shot in.

"Oh, sure. Friends from all over," Sacha said, and her smile seemed genuine.

"Anyone you stay in contact with?"

"A few. We'll catch up with our friend Oscar when we dock in Key West."

Ziva felt Tony sit up straighter, and she knew why. Oscar McCarthy, the man who ran a charter boat business in Key West, had been posting on Facebook about plans to meet up with John when they docked.

"It must be great to have so many friends all over the place," Tony said. "You never have to pay for a hotel again."

Sacha and Julie burst out laughing.

"I'd die before staying at Oscar's place," Julie said.

"You'd probably die _after_ staying at Oscar's place," Sacha countered. "You're sure to leave with some kind of deadly skin disease."

Julie shuddered, and then reached for her cell phone when it started vibrating. She flipped it screen up and read the message on screen, and her smile fell away. She looked over at Sacha with regret.

"Marty," she said. "He's sent out an SOS. Are you okay for a few minutes?"

Sacha waved her hand as she swallowed another mouthful of wine. "Go, go," she said. "Before they get _super_ grumpy."

"Excuse me," Julie said to Tony and Ziva, and then rushed off.

"I hope everything is all right," Ziva said.

"Prob'ly," Sacha said, beginning to slur. "Who cares? You want another glass?"

"No," Ziva said, just as Tony replied, "Sure."

Sacha poured him a glass that was almost filled to the brim.

"Zara, if you're not going to drink, you should at least get with the baby-making," Sacha told her. "Don't you think?"

Ziva's cheeks warmed again and her eyes fell on the suddenly very attractive glass of wine in Tony's hand. "You know, it's still very early in our relationship. Isn't it, Tom?"

"Didn't you say you'd been together for a couple of years?" Sacha asked.

"Still so early," Ziva repeated.

"We're not really sure about each other yet," Tony added.

Sacha laughed. "Oh, yeah. I can see that," she said sarcastically.

Ziva looked around for Julie to save them, but when she didn't see her she reached for Tony's wine. "A little bit can't hurt," she said.

God save her from this conversation.

…

Half an hour later Julie still hadn't returned, dessert was over and Sacha had reached the messy stage of drunk. Ziva knew they weren't going to get anything else useful out of the night, so she convinced Sacha to let her and Tony walk her back to her room with the hope they could get inside. She leaned heavily against Ziva as they stumbled through the halls, and Ziva found herself grabbing for the wall a few times to stop them both from falling over. Whenever she caught Tony's eye, he was cringing like he expected the trip to end in disaster.

"Home, sweet home!" Sacha announced at the door to her cabin. She opened her clutch and held it up to her face to peer inside. "Where's my key?"

Ziva caught Tony's eye and wordlessly told him to hold on to Sacha. When he did, she quickly stuck her hand in her purse and felt around for the small knife disguised as a pen that she was carrying with her. She flipped off the top, prepared herself, and then sliced the top of her index finger. Then, she reached for the doorframe, and quickly pulled her hand back and gasped in pain.

"Ow!" she cried out, and looked down at her finger. It was bleeding nicely for effect.

"You okay, hon?" Sacha asked.

"Yes, I cut my finger on something." She held it up for Sacha to see.

"That looks bad, sweetheart," Tony threw at her, and he looked genuinely concerned by the injury.

"Do you have any Band-Aids?" she asked Sacha.

"Yeah, of course," Sacha said, and pulled her key out of her purse. "Here it is! Come on." She tried to put the key into the slot, but it was absolutely beyond her at this point. She handed it to Tony. "Tom, you're going to have to do it."

"Sure." Tony took the key and quickly opened the door, then stood aside to let Sacha and Ziva in.

"Come in here, Zara," Sacha said, beckoning her into the bathroom. "Can you fit?"

"Tight squeeze," Ziva said, and then deliberately blocked the doorway so that Sacha wouldn't notice as Tony slipped into their bedroom to start snooping. But Sacha was busy rummaging through one of the drawers for Band-Aids. Ziva turned on the faucet to mask any noise Tony might make, and also to flush out the cut on her finger.

"A-ha!" Sacha cried and brandished a box of Band-Aids. "Never travel without them."

"And rubbing alcohol," Ziva added.

Sacha flipped down the lid on the toilet and took a seat. "You know," she said as she toed off her shoes, "I like to be prepared. Band-Aids, rubbing alcohol, antiseptic cream, antacids—that's usually for John. God, I don't know what happens to men when they get to about 40, but it's like all they want to eat is meat, and a lot of it. They stack on weight and start getting heartburn all the time, and they act like they've got no idea why it happens." She paused to pull the clip out of her hair, and tossed it on the counter. She looked Ziva dead in the eye. "Don't let Tom get like that. Promise me."

Ziva didn't know if she had any power over whatever Tony might decide to do to his body in the future, but she nodded and couldn't help smiling. "I promise," she said, and held up her finger.

"Oh!" Sacha reached into the drawer again and pulled out a tube of antiseptic. Ziva dried her finger off on a piece of toilet paper and squeezed out as much blood as she could, but it just kept coming. She began to think she'd cut herself more deeply than intended.

"You know, I think I'm going to have to go down to the medical bay," she said. "I might just wrap it up and head down."

"What did you cut it on, do you think?" Sacha asked.

"I am not sure. Perhaps a nail or something."

Sacha reached over to squeeze Ziva's other hand. "I'm sorry, honey."

"It is not your fault," Ziva told her.

"Yeah, but you walked me back here." She paused and smiled, but her eyes looked sad. "Thank you. That was really nice."

"Don't mention it," Ziva said with a kind smile. "Do you want Tom to hang around while I go down to the medical bay?"

Sacha waved her hand. "No, no. He seems like the kind of man who'd like to hold your hand through a doctor's visit."

He was, Ziva knew. Although she didn't think a cut finger really called for a bedside vigil. Nevertheless, she didn't argue with Sacha. She wrapped another wad of toilet paper around her finger and turned off the faucet.

"I am sure Julie will be by as soon as she can," Ziva told her.

Sacha smiled, then stood and brushed past her towards the door. "I should call her room and see what she's doing," she said.

Ziva couldn't block her way out of the bathroom without looking completely obvious, so she raised her voice a bit to try to give Tony warning to stop whatever he was doing in the bedroom. "Great idea!" she enthused. "Is her room far away?" She stepped out of the bathroom behind Sacha and almost walked into her back. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw Tony standing over by the balcony doors.

"Hey!" Tony said, looking innocent as a baby. "I came over to look at your view, but then I realized that it's the exact same view as ours. The ocean. At night." He smiled.

Sacha didn't move, and with her back to Ziva she couldn't see what was going on with her face. Ziva raised her eyebrows at Tony, and he walked towards them.

"So, is your finger bad?" Tony asked her. "Should we go see the doctor on board?"

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea."

"You're such a klutz," Tony told her, and he and Sacha did a little dance as he tried to move past her towards the door. "Thanks for your help, Sacha."

"Yeah," Sacha said, sounding a little more sober. "No problem."

"Will you be all right?" Ziva asked her as she backed up towards the door. "Do you want us to wait until Julie reappears?"

Sacha stared at them for a moment, then shook her head. "Uh, no. Thanks. Me and John just had a little fight. Happens all the time. We'll be fine."

Ziva reached back for the door handle and pulled it open. "Okay. Well, sleep well. We might catch up with you tomorrow."

"Sure," Sacha said, and offered them a smile. "See you later."

Ziva led Tony into the hall, and they both gave Sacha a little wave before the door closed. She blew out a breath of relief as Tony slung his arm around her shoulders and steered her down the hall.

"Do you really need to go to the medical bay, or…?"

"Yes," she told him, and held up the bloodied makeshift bandage around her finger.

"What did you _do?_ " he asked.

"Cut myself on a knife in my purse," she told him under her breath. "What did you find in the room?"

"A teddy bear," he replied quietly. "With a ledger or something next to it. I took photos."

"Good work," she said with a smile.

"Back at you," he said, and kissed her cheek. "Suffering for your art? I like it." His smile quickly fell to a stern frown. "But I'd prefer you didn't."

"Understood," she said. "But this also gives us a legitimate opportunity to check out the medical bay, and the ship's doctor."

"You're a genius."

"No," she said as they reached the elevator. "I am duplicitous."

Tony grinned. "Just the way I like you."

…

Ziva and Tony shared a small, triumphant smile when they found Dr Mona Mercurio, also known as the physician who had treated Will Crawford, on shift. It wasn't too busy in the medical bay—the only other patient was a nervous-looking woman in sweatpants and a t-shirt who didn't want to make eye contact with anyone—so Ziva wasn't concerned with taking up the doctor's time with chatter as she cleaned out Ziva's fingertip.

"It's pretty quiet down here tonight," Tony said, taking the lead on the conversation as was his wont. "Has it been a busy trip for you?"

"Not so much," Dr Mercurio said with a smile. "Pretty standard, really."

"No crazy injuries?" Tony asked, trying to build a rapport.

Dr Mercurio pretended to think about it. "Hmm, there was the patient with the koala bite, but I can't go into detail. Doctor patient privilege."

Tony cocked his head in a way that Ziva knew meant he wasn't sure whether she was being serious or not. Ziva thought it was obvious she was kidding. "I heard that the ship had an outbreak of food poisoning a few months ago," she said. "We were talking to a couple who have been on this cruise…How many times did they say, honey?"

"Four or five," Tony supplied.

"Right. They said the last trip they were on, there was quite an outbreak."

Dr Mercurio smiled kindly, but shook her head. "Nothing recently that I would call an outbreak," she said. "But it's not uncommon for people to get food poisoning from food they buy onshore."

Ziva and Tony shared a quick look at the crew again blaming onshore food for illness.

"Yeah, we heard someone actually died," Tony said, lowering his voice and wincing like he knew it was unseemly to gossip, but he couldn't help himself.

"That's _very_ uncommon," Dr Mercurio said firmly.

"Did that actually happen?" Ziva asked, playing up her alarm. "I can't believe that really happened."

Dr Mercurio applied some antiseptic to Ziva's finger. "I'm sure you'll both be fine," she assured them. "So long as you stay away from…was it a nail that you cut yourself on?" she checked.

Ziva nodded. "Yes. I should probably let maintenance know."

"When was your last tetanus shot?"

"Last year." It was the truth. She'd fallen at a construction site while chasing a fleeing suspect and ripped open her pants leg and skin on her shin on an unidentifiable piece of machinery.

"So, no eating from street vendors is what I'm hearing," Tony said, and put his hand on Ziva's shoulder. "I'm sorry, sweetcheeks. I know you wanted to go to town on lobster in St Croix."

"Just stick to the lobster in restaurants, and you'll be fine," Dr Mercurio told them. She stepped over to a cabinet and pulled out a bandage.

"What do you do when someone does get bad food poisoning?" Ziva asked her.

"We look after them down here," Dr Mercurio said. "We've got hospital beds and we can put them on a drip. Then we transport them to a hospital onshore as soon as we can, and they get well looked after."

"Do you stay in touch with the hospital?" Tony asked, and Ziva cringed a little to herself. That sounded like a question a detective would ask, and Dr Mercurio did give him an odd look. But she nodded.

"Yes, sometimes," she said. "Depends on how unwell they are and whether it's likely that they'll return to the ship at another port."

The doors to the medical bay burst open then, and a very, very drunk man in his 20s with blood running down the side of his face stumbled in. A small woman about the same age and half the size, but only marginally less drunk followed him in.

"Are you the doctor?" she asked.

Before Dr Mercurio had a chance to respond, the man stumbled closer to her and pointed at his head. Ziva wondered if he had any idea how much he was bleeding if he felt the need to point to his injury.

"I cut my head open!" he yelled, although he wasn't being aggressive. He was just very, very drunk.

"I see that," Dr Mercurio said without missing a beat. "How about you sit down there before you fall and hurt yourself more, and I'll be with you in just one minute."

The man turned his head this way and that as he looked around the room, and Ziva watched Tony reach out most likely on instinct to steady him before the action made him fall over.

"You okay, buddy?" Tony asked.

The man focused in on Tony and pointed to his head again. "Yeah, yeah, man. I just cut my head open."

As Dr Mercurio wrapped the bandage around Ziva's finger, Tony helped guide the man to a seat across from the quiet woman in the track pants.

"How'd you do that?" Tony asked him.

"Dancing," the man told him, and then pumped his arms above his head as if in demonstration.

"Dancing into someone's elbow," his companion said. "You're going to have a black eye tomorrow. I just _know_ you're going to have a black eye."

The man made a weak attempt at beatboxing, and Tony aimed a smirk at Ziva. She smiled back.

"Okay, Zara. You're done," Dr Mercurio said. "I'll give you some antiseptic cream and another bandage. Keep it dry—I know that's hard when you're visiting beautiful beaches, but you can tape some plastic around it. Come back if you run out of bandages."

"Thank you," Ziva said, and got out of her chair. Without asking specifically about her treatment of Will Crawford, there wasn't much else she and Tony would be able to get out of the doctor. And besides, it looked like she would have her hands full with her new patient.

"Come back if you think it's infected," Dr Mercurio threw at her as Tony opened the medical bay door. "Or if you eat too much lobster in St Croix."

"Will do."

They walked a few steps down the hall away from the medical bay before Tony nudged her.

"How do you cut your head open on someone's elbow?"

"Anything is possible when you are that drunk."

"I vaguely remember that," he said. "I was always more of a mystery bruise drunk."

"And you called me a klutz," she reminded him.

"That was just for show," he told her. "We both know you're a super ninj—AGH!"

Ziva saw a flash of silver flying towards her face from around the corner in the split-second before Tony ducked, threw his arm up in front of his face and threw his other arm out to shove her behind him. She recovered in the next instant to see John Paulson standing in front of them with what looked like a silver serving tray raised above his head and an angry look on his face.

"John? What the _hell?_ " Tony cried.

The angry look fell from John's face, to be replaced with one of unconvincing apology. "Oh, Jesus, man! I'm so sorry!" He dropped the tray by his side and reached out towards him. "Oh, man. I thought you were someone else. Geez, I feel terrible."

"Someone else?" Ziva echoed, trying desperately to keep a hold on her adrenaline so that she _didn't_ go full ninja on him. "Who did you _intend_ to hit in the face with a serving tray?"

John held his heaving chest. "Just…just this guy I had a bit of a disagreement with," he told them breathlessly. "He said some crap about Sacha. God, I'm so sorry." He paused and gestured at Ziva with the tray. "What did you do to your finger, Zara?"

Ziva looked down at her finger. "Uh, I cut it outside your room when we were walking Sacha home."

"Oh, right," John said, and then stared at her for a long, creepy moment. "Thanks for looking after her."

"No problem. Please thank Sacha for helping to patch me up."

He pointed at her with the tray again. "You bet I will," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Hey, you guys've got some good reflexes."

"Thanks," Tony said cautiously.

"Good thing," John said with a dead chuckle. "Or else I guess I would've broken your noses. Good night!" With that he turned and walked away, whistling as he went.

When they were sure he was gone, Tony and Ziva looked at each other with the same expression. One of shared conviction that John Paulson absolutely had something going on aboard the Caribbean Carnivalé that he didn't want other people to know about.

"Let's head back to our room, honey," Tony said, and took her hand in his before practically pulling her towards the elevator.

Her heart was racing all the way back to their room, and as soon as they were inside she put her finger to her lips. Tony nodded, and they split up to do a sweep of the room on the small chance that John or Martin had gotten in and bugged the place. She knew it was unlikely, but it paid to be careful. When she didn't find anything her heart rate started to return to normal, and she met Tony in the bedroom.

"Laptop and passports still in the safe," he told her.

She nodded. "So. That was weird, yes?"

Tony blew out a laugh. "Yeah."

"I think you may have seen something important in John and Sacha's room," she said. "You said something about a ledger?"

Tony pulled out his cell phone and sat on the end of the bed. Ziva sat beside him as he unlocked the screen and flipped to the last photo he took. They inclined their heads in unison to peer at the screen, and Tony enlarged the photo of the piece of paper. Ziva frowned as she tried to make sense of it. It looked like a long list of letters that didn't make words, and each was paired with a scratch tally.

Tony grunted. "Well, I think it's clear that we can put them away for life with this, Ziva."

She allowed herself to smirk at the joke. "The letters could be initials of peoples' names," she speculated. "Next to a tally of home many baggies or bricks or…whatever size packages they are distributing."

"Could be," he said with a shrug, then added, "Stop scratching."

"Hmm?"

"Stop scratching your legs," he elaborated. "You'll make it worse."

Ziva looked down, and realized that she had been working her fingernails over a bug-bitten patch of skin below her kneecap. She pulled her fingers into a fist, but now that he'd pointed out that she was scratching, the itch was too much to resist. She rubbed her knuckles over the skin that was burning hot from all the blood rising to the surface, on top of itching.

Tony stood up. "Where did you put that rubbing alcohol?"

"Call me paranoid, but I do not want to use it."

"Want to go back to Mercurio and get some calamine lotion?" She shook her head no, and Tony checked his watch. "You want to try to get McGee on the line? Unlikely he'll still be in the office now, but let's make an attempt."

"Sure."

As Tony went to get the laptop, Ziva darted into the bathroom and found the bottle of aloe vera gel she had brought with her on the assumption that Tony would get sunburned and complain about it. She rubbed a generous amount into both legs, enjoyed the cooling sensation for a few moments, and washed her hands thoroughly but carefully before returning to the bedroom. She took a seat beside Tony again as he booted up the machine, and he turned his head sharply towards her.

"What is that smell?"

"Napalm."

He gave her an odd look, and then the two of them watched the computer desktop while they waited for the Internet to connect.

"How was that pasta you had tonight?" she asked, killing time.

"Really good. Relatively speaking."

"Relative to what?"

"Proper Italian pasta."

"Of which you are an aficionado."

Tony lifted a shoulder and switched to Italian. " _Can't help what's in my blood,_ Ziva."

Her stomach flipped much like it had the night at her apartment when they'd kissed. "You will have to make me a pasta dinner one night." _And show me your damn apartment_ , she added in her head.

"Consider it done," he said, and pulled up Skype. McGee was indeed online, just like he always seemed to be. The question would be whether they got him at work, or at home in his jimmy-jams.

A bleary eyed McGee answered the call, but it was a bleary eyed McGee sitting between the too-familiar walls of the bullpen. "What?" he answered.

Tony pulled a face. "Yeesh. What's with you?"

"New case," McGee said, and his eyes flicked beyond his computer screen to track someone as they approached. "Some of us have to keep things running while you're on your Caribbean vacation."

"It's not a vacation," Tony argued, but then Gibbs' head popped into view, close to the camera. Tony and Ziva both instinctively leaved back from the screen.

"Hello, Gibbs," Ziva started, but he was about as interested in pleasantries as McGee.

"Tell me you've got something besides a tan," he barked.

Ziva sighed softly at the fully expected but still annoying greeting as Tony plastered a thin smile on his lips.

"It's hard, outdoor work, boss," Tony told him, eliciting eye rolls from both of their colleagues. "Seriously," he insisted. "You should see Ziva's legs. They're disgusting."

Ziva's head snapped around to glare at him. Disgusting? So why was he touching them so much of late?

She watched him cringe at his badly-worded comment "I mean the bug bites," he said, choosing to stare at Gibbs and McGee rather than make eye contact with her. "The bug bites are the worst. And probably driving you crazy."

Ziva sighed again, much louder, and took over the conversation as Tony regrouped. "I received the _disgusting_ bug bites this morning when _Agent DiNozzo_ and I hiked through the jungle to look at Rodney and Nadine Preston's property," she said, managing to rebuke both Tony _and_ their colleagues in Washington at the same time. "We followed the Paulsons and Roses to the location, and then continued on foot through a neighboring property to the fence line so that we would not be detected."

"They've got a building back there that's separate from the main house," Tony told them. "A lot of activity going into and out of that building. Wrapped packages came out of that building and were put in the back of a Jeep that our suspects were using."

"What was in the packages?" Gibbs wanted to know.

Tony and Ziva glanced at each other.

"Not sure," Tony admitted. "We left and then set ourselves up at the same restaurant that Will and Alicia Crawford ate at when they made that video. The one that showed John and Martin walking in the background with stuffed bears."

"And we saw the Paulsons and Roses pull up on the street," Ziva continued. "Sacha, Julie and another woman, possibly Nadine, left the others and went to the beach. But John and Martin went into a toy store carrying the packages that were put into their car at Rodney and Nadine's property."

"And our buddy Herschelle from the ship joined them in there too," Tony added.

"And what?" Gibbs asked with a shrug.

This time, Tony sighed. "And, Herschelle left before the others, wiping his mouth like he'd been in a fist fight."

"John Paulson had a bruise on his face tonight," Ziva shot in quickly, backing up their suspicions.

Tony nodded. "Right. When John and Martin left the store, they weren't carrying the packages but they were carrying two big stuffed bears."

"Which they carried down the ship," Ziva told them. "We followed them to the security check point. Both bears were scanned, but John was working hard to distract the security guard who was not watching the x-ray screen."

"We think because the guy who _was_ watching the screen must be in on it," Tony added.

"Why do you—" Gibbs started, but Tony cut him off.

"Wait, there's more," he said, waving his hand. "Just now we managed to get Sacha to let us into their room. Ziva kept her distracted in the bathroom while I snooped. One of those bears was on the bed next to a kind of ledger. I'll send you the photo, but we're thinking it's some kind of delivery list for the drugs we're pretty sure they picked up from Rodney and Nadine."

"But—" Gibbs started, but Ziva talked over him.

"Sacha seemed suspicious of us when we left her room. And later John Paulson attacked us with a silver serving tray."

"Nearly broke my nose," Tony told them.

"He suggested he thought that we were someone else," Ziva told them as Tony shook his head. "But he was clearly after us. It was a warning."

"They are definitely getting suspicious of us," Tony told them. "And they are definitely trying to hide something."

When they paused long enough for Gibbs to get a word in, her came at them with both barrels. "So, you have nothing," he stated.

Tony shot him a severe frown. "What? Is the sound crapping out on this call? Didn't you just hear—?"

"You've got no hard evidence of anything," Gibbs pointed out. "It's all speculation. So why are you both still there?"

Ziva felt Tony's arm tense against hers, and she knew what he was thinking. Why was it okay for them to spend money and resources any time Gibbs had a gut feeling about something, but not when anyone else did? She felt Tony teetering on the edge of throwing the question out there, so she jumped in before he could ruin his career.

"Julie Rose offered us drugs," she reminded him. "We are waiting for her to follow though on that offer."

That made Gibbs' eyebrows rise. He hadn't been on their previous call when Julie's offer was mentioned, and Ziva wondered if McGee had forgotten to tell him.

"What kind of drugs?" Gibbs asked.

"We are not sure yet," Ziva told him. "Some kind of party drug—she has not been specific. But we are working to build trust with her, and have been making it clear that we would be very interested in taking what she has."

Gibbs nodded along, visibly relaxing now that things were moving in the direction that he wanted them to. He even moved back from the camera a little.

"In addition, Sacha handed me a bottle of rubbing alcohol to help with my disgusting bug bites."

"You might recall, boss, that rubbing alcohol was found in Will Crawford's blood." It was an unnecessary reminder, and Gibbs shot them an irritated look for it. But Ziva understood Tony's sudden urge to be bitchy.

"Sacha told me that she always travels with a bottle," Ziva told them, and then laid it all out. "So, we have the murder weapon, as it were. We have the promise of a drug deal. We have our suspect behaving violently towards us after we have been in his room and seen what could be his drug delivery system. We have identified two people on board the ship who could be assisting the Paulsons and Roses with their alleged drug smuggling operation. And that is to say nothing of the personal relationships involved in all of this that show two marriages ready to fall apart as a result of the husbands' activities." She sat back and crossed her arms, pleased with her round up. She expected Gibbs to at least nod in acknowledgement, but he barely even moved an eyebrow. She pursed her lips and dug her fingernails into her leg with frustration.

In the prolonged silence that followed, McGee glanced between then tentatively until he finally threw in the two cents he had found.

"I've been doing some work on this end," he said. "Remember Oscar McCarthy? The guy in Key West with the charter boat business who's friends with John?"

Tony nodded. "Yeah. Sacha mentioned him tonight. She said they were going to catch up with him in Key West."

McGee's face fell. "Uh, yeah. That's what I was going to say. John posted a photo of the cruise on his Facebook page yesterday, and McCarthy made yet another comment that he'll see them in a few days at the usual place."

"Well, there's another nail for us," Tony muttered to Ziva, but loud enough for the others to hear.

"And something else," McGee said. "After that post I did some digging into Oscar McCarthy. His business receives regular payments of a few thousand dollars about a week after every cruise trip. I'm trying to determine where the payments are coming from, but if this all pans out the way we think it will, I expect those payments will be coming from Jim Paulson."

"John's older brother," Ziva remembered.

"The physical therapist in Manhattan who bought John's house and cars," Tony said. "He's bankrolling the whole thing."

"When are you due in Key West?" Gibbs asked.

"Few days," Tony said. "We're in Saint Croix tomorrow, then at sea the one after. We're in Key West after that."

Gibbs nodded. "We'll meet you there," he said, finally getting on board. "If we're going to prove any of this, we're going to need more than two sets of eyes on all the players."

"Oh, so you think we might be right?" Tony asked pointedly, but McGee had cut the transmission before he'd finished speaking. Tony shut the laptop with a profane mutter, but then turned to Ziva with a smile. "Nice job on getting him to come around on it."

"Thank you," she said, and then gave him a dirty look. "What did you say about my legs?"

Tony tipped his head back to groan, and then placed the laptop on the nightstand. "I meant the _bug bites_ ," he insisted again, and then reached over to run his hand over her thigh. "The legs themselves are perfect."

She glared once more, but then let it go. "I think we should give our new friends some space tomorrow," she said. "As you said, they are suspicious of us now. And John is clearly capable of violence. We should keep as far back as we can."

"Agreed," he said as his hand kept stroking her thigh. "But with any luck, they'll just head to the beach tomorrow and we can watch them from the water."

Ziva nodded, but honestly she hoped for something a little more stimulating than that. As much as she had enjoyed their time in the water today—and that included some necessary conversation about falling _in love_ with their best friends—she was not the kind of person who could spend all day, every day at the beach.

But that was tomorrow's problem. Tonight, she was content to focus on Tony's hand sliding up the inside of her thigh with determination, and on his mouth moving in to get reacquainted with her neck. _Enjoy it while it lasts_ , she thought to herself. Because she had a feeling that once they returned to Washington, spending lazy and love-soaked days alone together would be few and far between.

* * *

Hope you Tiva peeps are coping OK :/


	16. Chapter 16

**For those still reading (thanks!) I've aaallmost finished the next chapter, so you get this one now. Everyone sick of the cruise yet?**

* * *

Tony and Ziva spent the next two days flying as far under the radar as they possibly could. In St Croix they split away from cruise-operated activities and went kayaking and scuba diving (paid for out of their own pockets—there was _no way_ Gibbs would sign off on activities they couldn't prove their suspects were also involved in) and ate lunch (not lobster) on white sand under a palm tree.

The following day was spent on board as the Caribbean Carnivalé sailed back to Florida. Tony decided he may as well take advantage of the facilities on board, and got Ziva to join him in rock climbing (she beat him to the top) and ice-skating. He went on the waterslide alone, but she joined him in the afternoon to lie on a double sun lounger on the deck and watch John, Martin, Sacha and Julie sit by the pool. The couples seemed to be getting along much better—united against snooping undercover federal agents, perhaps?—and they all drank and laughed together for hours. Ziva fell asleep against his chest after about hour two, which was fine with him since there was nothing going on anyway, and because he was a big fan of snuggling with her even in Caribbean heat.

His ringing cell phone woke him before dawn the morning they docked in Key West. Cracking an eye open in the dark, Tony felt a few moments of confusion and disorientation, but after more than a decade of having sleep broken by phone calls he was fully conditioned to just reach for the phone without thinking about it. He made a grab for the glowing blue light just as the weight of another person rolled onto his back.

 _Ziva_ , his brain supplied. _That's Ziva. You're happy she's there. Everything is fine._

"It's mine," he told her sleepily, and brought the phone back to him. He read McGee's name on caller ID and swore under his breath before answering. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Yes, I've been up for over an hour already," McGee replied, louder than was necessary, as Ziva went limp against Tony's back.

"What do you want, early bird?"

"What time do you disembark?"

Tony sighed at the question that required a detailed answer. "I guess some time after we arrive in port." Detailed answers weren't within his abilities right now.

McGee sounded annoyed. And still loud. "You're already there," he said, as if Tony should be fully aware of this even in the depths of sleep.

Tony lifted his head off the pillow to look out the window. Although the balcony obscured most of the view from the bed, he could see the tops of a few tall buildings. "Oh. You spying on us, McGee?"

Ziva lifted her head at that. "He is what?" she asked, alarmed, and started to move off him. Tony didn't have an arm free to grab her—his other was pinned beneath them—so he tried to trap one of her legs between his.

"No, it's fine," he said quietly to her. But he still said it into his cell phone, so McGee heard him.

"What's fine?"

"What? Nothing. Where are you?"

"At the passenger terminal," McGee told him as Ziva managed to free herself and roll away. "When do you disembark?"

Free from Ziva's weight (although not necessarily liking it), Tony shifted to roll onto his back and yawn. "About 8 am, I think," he said. "What time is it now?"

"Just after 5 am."

Tony opened his eyes to glare at the ceiling. "It's a _cruise ship_ , McGee. People are on _vacation_. Do you really think they're going to get us up and off the ship at five frigging am?"

McGee ignored him. "Borin's going to position herself at the north end of the port," he said. "Me and Gibbs are at the south end. We'll do the close tail so that you and Ziva aren't in their faces, but we'll need you to stay nearby, especially if they lead us to Oscar McCarthy's charter boat business. And you need to give us a heads up on what they're wearing when they leave the ship."

"Fine," Tony said, feeling cranky. "But they should stick out because they'll be the two men carrying the giant stuffed animals."

"Calm down," McGee told him, sounding way too amused at Tony's mood for Tony's liking. "Or else I won't give you your gun when you get off the ship."

Tony couldn't immediately think of a good put down, so he just hung up and dropped the phone on the mattress.

"Plan?" Ziva asked.

He rolled onto his side to slide his hand over her belly and kiss her shoulder. "Gibbs and McGee will follow them closely. We'll hold back. Borin's at the other end of the port in case they go someplace else." He moved his lips to the crook of her neck. "And McGee's a pain in the butt."

She hummed, and ran her hand up his arm. "I think we will need to get used to that."

"Never," he said automatically. Then, "Why?"

"When he finds out about us, he will not pass up any opportunity to make fun," she said. "Nor will Gibbs."

He opened his eyes again and pulled his head back just enough to make looking at her comfortable. "I thought we agreed we'd keep it quiet for a while."

Ziva nodded. "Yes. But they will work it out." She looked at him. "Did you think we would successfully hide it into our 80s?"

"No. Just until Gibbs dies," he joked, and then frowned. "So, yeah, maybe our 80s."

Ziva shifted again to face him, and pushed him onto his back. His hand was happy to settle on her bare butt when she climbed aboard. "I would be surprised if they did not work it out within a month."

He pushed her hair back with his free hand and let out an involuntary but contented moan when she settled her hips into a very, very nice place. "Then we better make the most of that month," he suggested before pulling her down for a warm, lazy kiss.

Frankly, he didn't care how long it took for the others to work it out. He'd finally reached his happy place, and none of them were going to be able to pull him out of it.

…

 _John, green shirt, white shorts. Martin, blue shirt, tan shorts. Both carrying GIANT bears. Can't miss them._

Tony sent the text message off to McGee while they waited with about a hundred other people to disembark the ship. As nice as the last couple of days of spying, sun and sex had been (and it really, really had been), he enjoyed the little buzz he was now feeling at the idea of getting some real fieldwork done. They had a chance to bust their little cruise quartet today, or at least find out exactly what they were up to. That bit should probably come first, he conceded. It was always really embarrassing when you arrested innocent people. Although frankly, Tony wasn't sure how they were going to do that short of snatching the bears out of their hands, ripping them apart and putting whatever substances they found into a field test kit. And that might attract some attention.

His phone pinged and he looked down at the message he's received from McGee. _Got it. I'm at the south gate with your weapons._

Tony nudged Ziva and showed her the message. She let out a slow breath as she nodded, and Tony could feel her relief. She'd been without a weapon—a proper one, not some everyday object she could easily MacGyver into a weapon—all week, and Tony would wager that it was the longest she'd been without one since, well, Africa. It occurred to him that he hadn't heard her mention it once, and wondered just how much self-control that had taken her. He suspected a lot, given how relaxed the news seemed to make her.

"You know you won't be able to bring it back on board, right?" he said quietly.

Ziva raised an eyebrow at him. "You think we are getting back on board?"

He frowned back at her. "You don't?"

"Why would we? If we are successful today…" She trailed off and looked around them, and Tony understood why.

"Maybe we should talk about this elsewhere."

The crowd started moving then, and Tony kept his eyes on John and Martin as they all started to disembark. He finally noticed that Sacha and Julie were both with them, having previously been obscured by the crowd, and he wondered not for the first time whether they had hands-on roles in all this. They fell into the line about six people back from the group, and when Ziva made a move to get closer he pulled her back by the hand.

"Gibbs'll be on them."

She sighed heavily, and Tony reconsidered his earlier assessment of her level of relaxation. She was clearly chomping at the bit to get the hell off the ship and straight into work.

Finally they made it into the early morning daylight, and Tony did a quick scan of the port for McGee, Gibbs or Borin. He saw none of them, but continued on down the gangway to solid ground. Almost immediately, they were faced with a decision. While John and Martin took off on foot to the south, Sacha and Julie split off and went north. Common sense told him to stick with the men, but what if the women had an important part in this?

"I'll take Sacha and Julie," Ziva told him.

Tony hesitated. "You don't have backup," he pointed out. McGee was south. McGee had their guns.

Ziva slid on her sunglasses and shot him a smile. "Yes, I do. Borin is north." She pulled out her cell phone and started dialing. "Stay in touch," she said, and then took off after the women.

Tony muttered to himself and dialed McGee as he approached the south end of the port. "The women have split off and gone north," he told McGee as soon as he answered. "Ziva's after them. She's calling Borin."

"We've got a visual on John and Martin," McGee told him. "Gibbs moving into the crowd now. Come to me. I'm at your 2 o'clock."

Tony looked around and his eyes fell on McGee standing about 20 feet away. He checked that he wasn't about to knock anyone over, and then jogged through to crowd towards him. He rolled his eyes when McGee led him into a public rest room.

"Could've picked a better location, McGee," he said when he entered the otherwise empty bathroom. His nose wrinkled at the stench of stake pee and urinal cakes.

McGee reached into the backpack he was carrying and pulled out Tony's gun. "You're welcome," he deadpanned, and then looked Tony up and down with a filthy look. "Nice tan."

Tony gave him a winning grin as he tucked his gun into the waist of his jeans in the small of his back. "Thanks," he said brightly. "I got it either when we went zip-lining or rock climbing, or maybe at one of the gorgeous beaches—"

"I swear to God, you need to shut up," McGee told him. They left the rest room and McGee dialed Gibbs. "I've got Tony," he said. "What's your location?" He listened for a moment and then looked around until he spotted what he was looking for. "Got it. We're coming."

They joined the crowd heading south and weaved their way through the slower walkers. Tony caught sight of Gibbs' familiar white head about 50 yards away, which gave him some measure of comfort. John and Martin hadn't gotten away just yet. But he needed to check in with Ziva. He called her as he saw and (hopefully) discretely sidestepped around Sterling and Jolene.

"I am with Borin," Ziva answered, getting straight to the point. "We are heading towards a strip of shops and restaurants."

"Got it," he said. "We've still got eyes on our guys."

"Stay in touch," she said, and then hung up.

 _You too, honey,_ he thought to himself. "Ziva's with Borin."

McGee hefted his backpack on his shoulder. "Why does she get all the fun work?" he wondered.

Tony cut him a sidelong look. "Either you're saying a week on a cruise with me is fun, which is definitely true, or else—"

"I am 100 per cent not saying that," McGee cut in.

Tony smirked, but wondered at the open hostility coming at him from the probie. He wondered what had happened in the bullpen since he and Ziva had been away.

Way over the other end of the port, Ziva and Borin threaded through their own foot traffic as they kept an eye on Sacha and Julie. Unlike McGee, Borin was a lot more interested in the details of the cruise she missed out on.

"How many pools do they have on board?"

"Four," Ziva told her. "Plus some hot tubs." She glanced back at her and shook her head. "Those are disgusting. Tony insisted, but I will _never_ let him do that to me again."

Borin smirked. "What exactly did he do to you?" she asked teasingly.

Ziva rolled her eyes and looked up ahead. Sacha and Julie were still in view.

"So, plenty of hot tub time," Borin said.

"Once," Ziva corrected.

"And plenty of pool time."

"Never," Ziva told her.

"So, what the hell did you do?" Borin asked. "Sit around and drink cocktails?"

"Sit around, yes," Ziva said. "Unfortunately, no cocktails."

"That's a shame."

"I should have had non-alcoholic ones," Ziva said with a sigh. "People kept asking me if I was not drinking because we were having a babymoon."

Borin laughed and adjusted her sunglasses. "Maybe next year."

Ziva shot her a warning look, and Borin feigned innocence. She turned the conversation to the case.

"So, McGee said you were trying to get some product from Julie. I assume that didn't happen?"

Ziva shook her head. "I think the offer came off the table once Sacha got suspicious of us being in her room."

"And how did you manage to get in there?" Borin asked.

Ziva held up her finger. "Emergency Band-Aids."

"Ingenious."

Up ahead, Sacha and Julie stepped off the street and into a restaurant. Ziva sighed to herself. It would be difficult to keep distance from them when they were in the same room. But Borin nudged her.

"Head across the street," she said. "I'll get you a coffee."

"Black, no sugar," Ziva told her, and Borin grinned.

"Yeah, I could've guessed that."

She quickened her pace to follow Sacha and Julie, and Ziva looked both ways before she dashed across the street in a break in traffic. She leaned back against the three-foot tall stone wall that separated the street from the port area below and watched. The front wall of the restaurant was made up of glass concertina doors that had been opened right up to let in the morning breeze. Ziva could clearly see Borin standing at the counter placing her order, and Sacha and Julie sitting at a table by a wall to Borin's left. There was a handful of other diners scattered through the restaurant, all dressed in cruise casual wear that they'd accessorized with deep tans or sunburn. Ziva shook her head to herself. Hadn't these people heard of sunscreen?

Her eyes fell on a woman with ash blonde hair and round hips entering the restaurant. At first glance there was nothing remarkable at her, but when she paused at the door and looked around skittishly, Ziva knew something was up. She reached for her phone as she watched the woman approach Sacha and Julie, and the three women had a brief conversation before she and Sacha both reached into their respective handbags. Ziva glanced at Borin to make sure she was watching—she was—and then managed to snap a burst of photos of the woman handing what looked like money to Sacha in return for something. The item Sacha handed over was too small for Ziva to see, which frustrated her immensely, but she hoped that Borin had gotten a better look. Then the woman turned around and left the restaurant.

Ziva got another shot of her, one that they would hopefully be able to use to identify her, and then shot off a quick text to Borin. _Can you keep them occupied?_ She didn't wait for a response before she ducked back across the road, trusting that Borin would find a way to distract them for as long as she needed as much as she would trust Tony with the same job. By the time she got to the restaurant, Borin had positioned herself just slightly behind Julie's shoulder, forcing Julie to turn her head away from Ziva's approach, and was talking loudly to them about the bland art on the walls.

"Do you think that sand dune is nearby?" Borin was asking. "It's kind of pretty. I'd like to see it."

"The sand dune?" Sacha repeated, as if she wasn't sure she understood why anyone would find a fairly standard-looking sand dune a tourist attraction.

"Yeah," Borin said enthusiastically. "You know, a lot of tourist places have pictures of local attractions on the walls."

Ziva smirked to herself and then took the opening Borin had given to her. Sacha's handbag was on the floor next to her feet, and Ziva deployed all her ninja powers to creep up behind her and slip her fingers inside. She pulled out a small plastic Ziploc bag with some white powder inside it, and then turned and got the hell out of there as Borin went on about how interesting sand was, and that without it none of them would have cell phones. She dashed back across the road again, and fought the urge to stare openly at the suspected Schedule II drugs in her hand. Her heart raced as she waited for Borin to exit the restaurant with two takeout cups of coffee in her hands, and they walked back towards the port on opposite sides of the street. When they were safely out of view of the restaurant, Borin crossed the road and fell into step beside Ziva.

"I just made up a bunch of outrageous facts about sand," Borin stated, making Ziva chuckle. "I hope you stole something interesting to offset my embarrassment."

Ziva took the cup Borin offered her with thanks. "Actually, I am almost certain that sand plays a role in building smart phones."

"Probably. What did you get?"

"Cocaine, I think," Ziva told her. "But we will need to test it."

"I've got a field test kit in the car," Borin told her. "You gotta be prepared when you're chasing drug smugglers, David."

Borin led her to the short stay public car park across from the passenger terminal, and unlocked a non-descript sedan that Ziva thought she'd probably taken from the local Coast Guard office. She got into the passenger seat as Borin grabbed a kit from the trunk, and then joined her. Ziva opened her hand and showed Borin the baggie.

"Nice," Borin said approvingly. "You know, with my improv skills and your pick pocket skills, we could run a semi-successful petty crime business."

"I think we may make more money from our current jobs," Ziva replied.

"Yeah, but the hours are crap," Borin joked, and prepared the kit.

Ziva opened the bag and tipped a small amount into the plastic field kit sleeve, and then Borin cracked and shook it until the powder reacted with the chemicals in the kit. It was a positive reaction: cocaine.

"Yes!" Borin yelled as Ziva broke into a smile. "Thank God! It would've killed me if it was nothing."

Ziva was sure that Vance would have killed them if it were nothing. So would Gibbs. And Sec Nav. It was a huge relief. She pulled out her cell phone again and dialed Tony.

"DiNozzo."

"Sacha Paulson is dealing cocaine out of her handbag in a restaurant," she told him.

There was a pause as he absorbed that. "Are you sure?" he asked. Although he sounded cautious, she could hear how badly he wanted it to be true in his voice.

"I managed to procure a sample," she said, glancing at Borin with a small wince over her technically illegal activity. "We tested it using a field kit. It was positive."

"How did you—" he started, but stopped abruptly. "No, I don't want to know. That is excellent news."

She heard his relief, and empathized. "Are you still trailing John and Martin?"

"Yeah, we're getting close to the small commercial boat side of the marina," he told her.

"Stay in touch," she said. "Borin and I will head back to the restaurant to keep an eye on Sacha and Julie."

"Got it," Tony said, and hung up.

Ziva turned to Borin with a triumphant smile. "He is relieved."

Borin briefly cocked her head to the side and arched an eyebrow. "No kidding," she said. "Let's go."

South of the port, Tony slipped his phone back into his pocket and grinned at McGee. "Ziva and Borin have confirmed that Sacha Paulson's dealing cocaine."

McGee's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah? How'd they confirm?"

"They tested the product."

"How did they get the—"

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to, McGee," Tony advised. "Tell Gibbs."

It took another ten minutes to reach the marina where charter and tourist boat businesses were centered. They kept following John and Martin to the far end of the marina until they slowed and veered towards a flybridge yacht with an American flag attached to the stern and the name _Sunfish_ painted on the side. They slowed their pace and continued past the yacht and Gibbs, who had settled onto a park bench to keep up his surveillance. Tony was dismayed to see that he was still dressed in his DC office attire.

"He's supposed to be a tourist in Florida," he muttered to McGee. "Would it kill him to lose the sports coat?"

McGee shrugged. "Gibbs is gonna Gibbs."

Tony spotted a kiosk ahead just off the boardwalk that was selling dive boat tickets, and steered McGee towards it. From there, they had a clear view of John and Martin talking to two other men in front of the yacht. One of the men was Oscar McCarthy, and McGee snapped a photo.

"Any idea who the other guy is?" McGee asked him.

Tony shook his head. "No. Never seen him before." He squinted through the bright morning sunshine to try to gauge whether there was anyone else on board, but the yacht was positioned in such a way that the sunlight bounced off the handful of windows. He couldn't see anything.

"We need to get our hands on those bears," McGee said.

Tony nodded, but he didn't have a clue how to do it without just running over there and snatching them. "Could really use Ziva's ninja skills right now."

"You know she's not really a ninja, right?" McGee checked. "I know you like to fantasize, but—"

"Shut up, McPerv," Tony cut in. "Stop thinking about my fantasies."

"Oh, God, kill me," McGee muttered as he shuddered.

Their chance to put Tony's brilliant 'run over and snatch the bears' plan into action was lost when John, Martin, Oscar and the fourth man turned and climbed aboard the Sunfish. In a few seconds, they'd disappeared into the cabin. Fearing that they'd miss their chance to get evidence of what was really happening, Tony smacked McGee's arm and let the shot of adrenaline that rushed through his body carry him forward.

"Time for a closer look."

They headed back down to the boardwalk and Tony nodded at Gibbs before he walked down the floating walkway that separated Oscar's boat with the one on its right. Wordlessly, McGee continued on to walk down the other side. Tony pushed his sunglasses up as he tried to peer into the windows without looking completely suspicious. He still couldn't see much through the darkened windows, not even when he crouched down closer. This was going to be tricky.

"Hey."

The voice behind him startled him, and Tony stood up and spun around. He had half a second to get a glimpse of John Paulson before pain exploded through the left side of his head and he stumbled as his vision blurred. Rough hands grabbed him, and Tony was vaguely aware that he was being dragged forward towards the yacht before he lost the fight and passed out.

North of the port, Ziva snapped a photo of the third woman she'd seen buying off Sacha and Julie. She shook her hair out of her face as a breeze lifted, and then looked down at the photo on her cell phone. "Strange that it only seems to be women buying," she said to Borin.

Borin leaned her elbows against the picnic table they'd set themselves up at and scraped her bangs out of her eyes. "Strange that two middle class women are selling in the first place," she said. "And they're not exactly being discreet."

"I wonder if the restaurant is also in on it," Ziva mused.

"How many does that make?" Borin asked. "Aside from the Paulson and Rose clans, there's also Oscar McCarthy, your crew member who might be having an affair with Sacha, Rodney and Nadine, this restaurant…"

"And at least one of the security officers on the ship," Ziva added. She pursed her lips. "That is a lot of people."

"I suspect that most of them don't know about the other players," Borin said, and then reached into her pocket for her ringing cell phone. "Borin."

Ziva swiped through the photos she had taken that morning as Borin listened to the caller. She worried that some of the shots were too blurry to get an ID.

"No, he's supposed to be with you," Borin said with an edge in her voice, and Ziva looked up at her. That did not sound good. Borin's eyes flicked in Ziva's direction, but quickly flicked away again. "Get to the point, McGee," she said, her tone hard.

Immediately, Ziva felt a knot form in her stomach. Something was wrong. Borin breathed out an expletive, and then pushed off the table.

"We're on our way." She hung up without saying goodbye, and then looked at Ziva with an expression that was all business. "DiNozzo's gone missing," she told Ziva, no nonsense. "He was checking the yacht that our group got onto and now they can't find him. He's not answering his cell."

Ziva blinked at her for a few seconds as fear burst through her chest and stopped her breath. _Oh, God. Please don't let anything happen to him_. Borin waited for her to work through it, and when she started breathing again she gave her a tight nod and took her cue. No nonsense, all business. "Okay."

They scrambled to their feet and then started power walking through the crowds of tourists to the south end. Although she already knew it would be futile, Ziva called Tony's cell on the way to check for herself. Perhaps he just did not want to talk to McGee. Perhaps they had a spat, and Tony was ignoring him just to spite him. It was not at all a far-fetched scenario, but when the phone rang until his voicemail picked up, Ziva knew that something far more sinister was at play.

She flashed back to a few days ago when they'd been leaving the medical bay and John Paulson had almost taken their heads off with a serving tray. She remembered the violent look in his eye, and how she'd been utterly convinced in that moment that he could kill. She thought of poor Ken Klein and the injuries he'd sustained when he'd been beaten up after seeing John Paulson do something he shouldn't. She thought of Jolene and Sterling's warnings that John and Martin weren't nice people. None of it made her feel any better about the situation. It just made her feel sick.

She quickened her already speedy pace and glanced at Borin. Her friend gave her a little nod, and then the two of them broke into a run at the same time. When she got there, she was going to kick every single ass that got in her way until she found her partner. Assuming, of course, that Tony hadn't kicked them all first.

* * *

 **Dun-dun-duuun! He's totally dead. (Oh, of course he's not.)**


	17. Chapter 17

**I'm close enough to finishing the next, final chapter, so let's get this one out of the way. It's been an age since I posted, so a quick jog of your memory: Back on shore in Key West, Ziva and Borin watched Sacha and Julie dealing drugs out of a café, and Tony, McGee and Gibbs saw John and Martin meet up with Oscar on Oscar's yacht. When Tony and McGee went in for a closer look, John and Martin knocked Tony out. McGee called Borin to tell her Tony was missing, and the chapter ended with Ziva and Borin legging it back to help with the search for Tony.**

 **Let's go.**

* * *

When Ziva and Borin finally reached the marina, Ziva was pleased to see Gibbs holding a man by his shirt collar up against the wall of a kiosk. That suggested that the trail to find her partner wasn't completely cold. They had a lead.

"Tell me where they're going," Gibbs demanded as Ziva got within earshot. In true Gibbs style, he managed to sound terrifying without raising his voice.

The man, who was about 30 years younger and 30 pounds lighter than Gibbs, frowned like it was a ridiculous question. "How the hell should I know?" he said. "It's the frigging ocean, man! There aren't street signs."

Ziva stepped in towards him, and the adrenaline running through her had her giving him a shove for good measure. "Why are they going out to sea?" she shouted.

The man looked at her, then gave her a quick once-over. "Who are you?" he asked, confused.

Ziva ignored his question and gave him another shove. "Why?" she repeated.

"They're handing the stuff over," he said. "Salvatore's guys are picking it up."

Ziva turned to Borin. "Where is the closest Coast Guard vessel?"

"They'd be close," Borin said, and then pulled out her cell to make an urgent call. Ziva turned back to Gibbs. She wasn't willing to wait until the Coast Guard mobilized.

"We have to get out there _now_."

Gibbs nodded and pulled the man off the wall of the kiosk. "McGee! Get us a boat."

A sightseeing yacht a few slips over was about to start welcoming passengers on board, and McGee ran over and thrust his badge into the captain's face. Ziva couldn't hear the specifics of the argument that followed, but she didn't have time for it. She made sure that Gibbs had a good hold on their witness/suspect and then ran over and grabbed the captain's arm. His eyes widened and he pulled back from her and held up his hand.

"Ma'am, I understand you're keen to get going on your tour," he told her. "It'll just be a few minutes—"

"We need your boat," she told him, and shoved him back on board. "I do not have time to argue with you. Either you drive the boat or I throw you overboard and drive it myself."

"Who are you?" the captain demanded.

"NCIS," Ziva told him, and stepped on board.

"And Coast Guard," Borin added as she stepped on after her.

"I don't care if you're the Queen of England," the captain yelled back. "I've got a dozen paying tourists waiting—"

Ziva turned back to him and clenched her fists. "So, you wish to be thrown overboard, yes?"

The captain pursed his lips and looked her up and down, and then seemed to decide that she was serious. He turned back to look at Gibbs, McGee and the witness they'd found climbing aboard, and then stalked over to them, muttering to himself the whole way.

"You're all gonna pay me for the privilege of having you on board, right?" he said as he separated the yacht from its mooring. "I'm not much into charity."

"Send an invoice to headquarters," Gibbs said dryly, and dragged their witness after Ziva as she climbed up to the yacht's cockpit.

Ziva spied a pair of binoculars and grabbed them to do a scan of the ocean ahead. There was marine traffic all over, and she felt her heart sink. She brought the binoculars down and looked around for McGee. Gibbs, their witness and the captain had squeezed into the cockpit with her, but McGee must have been back down on deck. Gibbs handcuffed their suspect to the control panel and pointed at the radar as he glared at the skinny man.

"You, tell the captain where to go," he ordered.

The witness looked between them nervously and then gestured with his free hand. "Go west," he told the captain.

The captain—his nametag identified him as George Kostas—glared and then started the yacht's engine. Satisfied that they were about to start moving, Ziva ducked out of the cockpit again and started down the steps.

"McGee!" she yelled, and then briefly lost her footing as the yacht set off with a lurch. She looked up at the pier in time to see a dozen tourists yell and gesture angrily at them, but she had no remorse for ruining their day at sea. "McGee!"

McGee popped his head around from the front deck. "What?"

She rushed towards him and pointed at him with the binoculars. "Can you track Tony's cell phone with yours?"

McGee shook his head, and the near permanent look of worry on his face seemed to deepen. "No. His is switched off."

"That does not ever seem to stop you," she told him, raising her voice to be heard over the engine and the wind. "On our cases you always seem to be able to find someone's cell phone."

"From my _desk_ ," McGee pointed out.

"So get Abby to do it," Borin said as she joined them. When McGee didn't immediately respond, she barked, " _Now!_ "

McGee shoved his hand into his pocket to grab his cell phone and stepped away to call Abby in DC. Ziva tried to take a few calming breaths, but abandoned that idea after the first two didn't come close to reaching the bottom of her lungs. She stepped closer to the bow of the boat and lifted the binoculars again. Borin stepped after her.

"Coast Guard is sending out a chopper to begin an aerial search," she said.

Ziva nodded stiffly.

"I've sent a team of agents back to pick up Sacha and Julie at the café," Borin went on. "I promise to give you first go at interrogation."

Ziva chuckled bitterly through a clenched jaw. It was tempting, but it may not be the best idea to allow her access to Sacha and Julie if she didn't find Tony quickly, alive and in reasonable health. It had been a few years since she had used the 'physical coercion' skills she had learned and practiced in Mossad. But if any situation called for her to try them out again, interrogating the women who were accessories to her partner's murder would be a good starting point.

She gripped the binoculars tightly in her hands and took a shuddering breath. There was a time when she was not keen on Tony as a partner or a friend, let alone as the man she wanted to spend her life with. Partnership came first while they were playing Canadian assassins, and they realized that they could trust each other. Friendship took longer, although she came to like him as a person much sooner than she expected. She wasn't sure how long she had been in love with him. Somehow it felt like her whole life, even though the days and weeks when she was sure she hated him. But she had held those feelings back for so long. Denied them, ignored them, tried to kill them with other men and by pushing him away. Until finally, _finally_ , she had accepted that he was indispensible to her. That she liked who she had become during and because of their partnership. That he had become a part of her. Finally, she had gathered all her courage and decided to love him openly, wholly and without regret. And for reasons she doubted she would ever understand, he loved her right back.

Ziva couldn't imagine what her life would look like without him now. She didn't want to. But if she was forced to live it that way as a result of John or Martin's actions, she would rain hell down upon them and their wives without a thought for consequence.

"I don't know, Abby!" McGee cried, cutting into Ziva's vengeful thoughts and drawing her gaze. "If I did, I wouldn't be calling. But he can't be too far away from where my signal is. They only had a five-minute start on us, tops."

Ziva watched him closely, hoping that the next words out of his mouth would be _Great job! We're within spitting distance of that location right now!_ But instead he just sighed, accidentally caught Ziva's eye and gave her a weak smile before turning away again.

Ziva gripped the railing as she felt her anxiety peak. She felt so useless. There was literally nothing she could do except stand and watch the ocean and hope that he could stall John and Martin long enough to give her a chance to get there.

Borin nudged her arm. "Hey. Are you sure your cover was blown?"

Ziva pursed her lips and forced herself to think clearly. She didn't want to give the panicked response that was on the tip of her tongue. It would not be useful, and she was sure that she did not need to demonstrate to Borin how she felt in the moment. Borin was surely already aware.

"No," she replied, and focused on the facts. "No one made accusations. But John Paulson's attempted attack was deliberate. I am positive. And I can think of no reason that he would have attacked us otherwise."

Borin nodded slowly as she thought that over. "You know what I like about DiNozzo?" she said. "He thinks on his feet. He's good at improv. I'm sure that's saved his ass before."

Ziva could think of a dozen situations off the top of her head when that statement had proven true. But Borin wasn't getting it, even as she said all the right things to try to calm Ziva down. "I have no doubt that he will talk until they are sick of hearing him," she told Borin. "And that he will maintain his cover under every circumstance. I have no doubt that he will fight—" She broke up abruptly as she felt her voice begin to waver, and then took a breath to find her focus again. "He will fight until he is past exhaustion. He will not give up. That is not in his nature."

"Yeah, I got that," Borin said with something bordering on affection.

Ziva nodded. "But although he will try, he cannot control what John Paulson and Martin Rose are going to do." She paused and looked at Borin. Her colleague—friend, really, in this moment—watched her from behind dark glasses, but her mouth was a taut line that telegraphed her thoughts. She was already on the same wavelength as Ziva, but she wasn't going to say it aloud. Ziva would. "They took him out to sea because they think he knows what they are doing. There is no reason for them to let him talk his way out of being killed. And you know if they kill him and throw him overboard—" She stopped abruptly again, having reached her limit for straight talk. She couldn't make herself say aloud that chances were good that they may never even find his body.

Borin nodded and glanced away before very briefly putting her hand on Ziva's arm. "We'll get there," she told her. "And we'll get him back."

Ziva looked back out to sea and lifted the binoculars again to hide the tears she felt forming in her eyes. Yes, they would eventually find Oscar McCarthy's boat. They would find Oscar and John Paulson and Martin Rose. But whether they would ever find Tony DiNozzo was another question entirely.

…

 _I'm going to barf._

It was the first thought Tony had when he came to. His stomach was rolling, most likely from the sharp, throbbing pain in the side of his head that screamed concussion. The fact that he was clearly on a boat and skipping over the waves wasn't helping the situation at all. Nor was the sound of the engines or the vibrations they sent through his body.

God, this was the worst.

Summoning all his energy, he cracked his eyes open and looked around. He was below deck, sitting on the floor and slumped against the wall. Across from him was a dining table big enough to seat about eight. The two stuffed teddy bears that John and Martin had been carrying around were propped up on the built-in bench seats, and maybe it was just the concussion talking but those bears sure looked thinner than the last time he'd seen them. There was a stack of utensils and packages wrapped in white paper and duct tape on the table, and Tony would bet the house that there was cocaine inside. He glanced around for witnesses before attempting to get to his feet, but it became clear to him pretty quickly that it wasn't going to happen. Looking down, he saw his feet had been bound with duct tape. And he assumed that there was more duct tape keeping his hands together behind his back. In a moment of panic he leaned forward so her could feel for his gun at the small of his back, but it was gone. He was unarmed and taped up. Tony sighed.

This truly was the worst.

And then, things deteriorated. He heard multiple, heavy footsteps crossing the deck above him, and his eyes tracked them around the deck and over to the steps that led down into the cabin. It was no surprise when John Paulson and Martin Rose dropped down into the cabin, or that they looked like they wanted to kill him. Tony's heart rate picked up as he readied himself for whatever was about to happen. He didn't want to leave it in their hands, though. He needed to get on the front foot.

"John, what the _hell?_ " he tried. "What's going on?"

John walked over to crouch in front of him, and Tony saw a gun—he realized with a sinking feeling that it was probably his—stuck in his waistband. "What's going on?" John repeated, and glanced up at Martin standing behind him. He let out a humorless laugh. "We've got a nosy guy poking around our business. A nosy guy who carries a gun, but no ID."

Tony swallowed, and tried his best to look clueless and panicked. "It's Florida, man. Of course I'm carrying a gun."

"Why were you poking around our boat?" Martin asked him.

Tony tried to shrug. "I was just looking for the right boat!" he said, panting. "My buddy and me are supposed to go fishing today. I was trying to find the right slip!"

John shook his head. "See, I don't believe you. You and your wife and been in our faces since day one of that cruise. I know you weren't supposed to be on our table that first night."

Tony's gut churned. _Crap._ That was bad.

"Who are you working for?" John asked him, his cheeks reddening with anger. "Salvatore?"

Tony didn't have a clue who Salvatore was, but filed that away for further investigation. Assuming he got out of this alive. "I'm not working for anyone!" he cried. "I went on a cruise with my wife!"

"Maybe he's DEA," Martin said.

Tony looked at him like he was crazy. " _What?_ I don't know what you're talking about."

John shrugged. "Maybe we'll ask your wife, then."

Tony was pretty sure that his 'wife' would beat the crap out of both these guys—simultaneously—before they made good on any unspoken threats to her safety. But he played along, and got angry. "I swear to God, if you touch her I'm going to kill you both."

John and Martin shared an obnoxious smile.

"Tough talk from a guy who's trussed up like a Christmas turkey," John said.

Tony breathed deeply, and transitioned into the bargaining stage of his capture. "Look," he said. "Just tell me what you want, I can try to help you get it, and then we can go our separate ways and never see each other again." He looked between them. "Sound good?"

"Oh, we're definitely never going to see each other again," Martin said. "Because we're going to drop you at the bottom of the ocean."

"For what?" Tony yelled. "Looking at a _boat?_ I don't know what you're doing or why you want me dead, but your reasons are wrong! I'm on a cruise with my wife and wanted to meet my buddy to go fishing. If we were in your face, it's because we thought we'd become friends."

"That's kind of pathetic," John said.

Tony took offence. "More pathetic than spilling the secrets or your crappy marriages to people you barely know?"

"Our marriages aren't crappy," Martin said angrily.

Tony wondered if the bad marriage thing was an act, or if he was just delusional. He wanted to throw it back in their faces that their wives were three seconds away from leaving them, and that Sacha was almost definitely having an affair. But he thought such stupidity would probably get him killed sooner than John and Martin had already planned, and he needed to buy a little more time for Ziva and his team to come rescue him.

But it sounded like time had already run out.

"Last chance," John said. "Who are you working for?"

Tony shook his head tiredly. Even if this was it for him, he wouldn't give up his team and make them a target of these people. He wanted John and Martin to be completely oblivious to the hell Ziva in particular would bring down on them.

"I'm a physiotherapist," he told them. "I work for myself. I don't know who those other people you mentioned are."

John stared at him with anger in his eyes, and then turned to Martin and nodded. Martin shrugged at Tony, as if telling him that Tony had brought this on himself and it was out of his hands to stop it, and then reached for the duct tape on the table. Tony's heart sank to his bound feet. He was all for going out in a blaze of glory while on the job, but not now. Not _now_. Not days after he'd finally sorted things out with the love of his life. After everything, didn't they deserve more time together?

"You don't want to do this," Tony warned Martin. "You don't _have_ to do this. Do you want money? I can get you money."

But Martin just shrugged as he tore off a strip of tape. "I've already got plenty of that," he said, and secured the tape over Tony's mouth.

Tony yelled and tried to kick and wriggle out of the way. But John lunged forward and held him down as Martin pulled out another length of tape and started wrapping it around his head. And that's when Tony _really_ started to panic. The tape started at his chin, and wrapped all the way around the back of his head and to the front again. In one continuous loop, Martin wrapped him up, over his mouth again, over his nose, over his _eyes_ , over his forehead. Before he knew it, Tony was blind, mute and mostly deaf with only a small gap in the tape to allow him to breathe.

Forget the nausea from probable concussion. _This_ was definitely, hands down, without a doubt the _worst_.

Figuring he hand nothing to lose, Tony continued to struggle and be as big a pain in the ass as he possibly could be as John and Martin pulled him up and dragged him across the room by his armpits. His head smacked into something—he assumed the ceiling or the wall by the steps—sending pain shooting through his head again and another wave of nausea through his body. As he was dragged painfully up the steps, he told himself not to throw up. Throwing up now while his mouth was bound up tight would probably kill him. And he still had hope that somehow, he'd get out of this before they threw him overboard and he inevitably drowned.

He felt the sun and ocean breeze on his bare arms when they got to the deck, and was sure that he heard a second boat engine joining the first. Tony was shoved roughly to the side, and he felt a second of pure panic when he thought that was it for him, and he was going to end up in the water. He saw Ziva's face in his head and prayed that one day she'd forgive him for leaving her so soon. But instead of ending up in the water he landed against the hard deck. Although it made pain explode through his shoulders and arms, he was never so happy to end up in a heap on the ground.

Through the deck, he felt the vibration of lots of footsteps moving quickly. He felt them disappear suddenly, seemingly in the direction he'd just been pulled from, and figured there were people moving below deck to grab the bricks of cocaine that had been on the table. If he was right, and there was a second boat, then perhaps they were doing the big drug deal out here on the water where there was no surveillance and no cops. That raised a new question: who were they handing off the drugs to? This Salvatore guy?

He didn't have much time to ponder that. Footsteps started thudding towards him, and Tony braced to be picked up again. Then there was a whole lot of yelling. He couldn't work out how many voices there were, but it was definitely a lot.

And then, gun fire.

Even with his ears covered up by layers of tape, Tony still knew the sound. And frankly, hearing gun fire so close to him while he was bound in tape from head to toe was almost enough to give him a heart attack. Someone tripped on his feet and fell down beside him before scrambling away again, but then Tony felt another big thud, like someone had just hit the deck, literally. With no way to defend himself, Tony instinctively curled up and held still, and hoped to God that the gunfire had come from Ziva and the team.

Because if it hadn't, he was pretty much done for.

…

"What do we have?"

McGee looked up at Ziva's voice and pulled his cell phone down from his ear. He looked stressed and apologetic, and that was enough to tell Ziva that he didn't have any information that she wanted to hear.

"There's some kind of interference that's blocking Abby from locking on to Tony's phone," he told her.

A tight knot pulled in Ziva's stomach. "Interference like a few hundred feet of sea water?" she asked.

McGee shook his head quickly. "No, no. Of course not," he told her, but without much confidence. "Something's jamming the signal."

"Un-jam it!" Ziva yelled at him.

McGee held up a calming hand as he nodded and brought his phone back up to his ear. "Abby, you've got to move on this," he said tightly. "Whatever you can think of, try it."

"Hey!" Borin cried as she dashed over to them. "I checked upstairs. There are two boats on the radar about two nautical miles southwest from here. The chopper is heading to that location now."

Hope soared in Ziva's chest and she and Borin squinted out to sea as if they would be able to see their targets from so far away. "How far out is the chopper?" Ziva asked.

"A few minutes," Borin told her.

The boat changed course slightly and Ziva heard the engine fire up. She held onto the bow as the boat gained speed, and she reached for the binoculars again. She swept them across the water ahead and fought to hold steady as the boat rose and fell over the swell. When she saw two dots ahead she felt a stab go through her chest, but she lost them again in an instant.

"I think I saw them," she yelled to Borin.

"Chopper's coming," Borin replied.

Ziva realized she could hear the faint slapping of helicopter blades over the grind of the boat engine and squinted up into the sky. A red and white Jayhawk was approaching at speed from the north, and the knot in her stomach loosened just a touch. They were close.

She lifted the binoculars again and after a little difficulty zeroed in on the boats. "They must be handing the drugs off to someone else."

"That's a lot of people handling the product," Borin said. "Leaves a lot of room to lose a kilo or two along the way."

"Sacha and Julie," Ziva said. "They are counting on it." She paused as a thought occurred to her. "Perhaps their husbands do not know. Perhaps they are selling on the side to build a bird's nest for when they divorce."

Borin didn't answer immediately. "Nest egg," she corrected. "You might be on to something."

"They were talking about going to Europe," Ziva started, but her words died on her lips when she saw a series of bright flashes coming from the boats. The curse she let out was in Hebrew, but Borin seemed to understand her tone just fine.

"What can you see?"

Ziva swallowed. "Gunfire. A lot of it."

"Can you see DiNozzo?"

The boat hit a wave, knocking Ziva's view of the boats right off course again. But it didn't matter. She shook her head. "No. They are too far away. I cannot determine identity."

Borin stepped away and got on the phone. "It's Borin," she said as Ziva struggled to find the boats again. "Get word through to the chopper that we've got gunfire. There is a federal agent on board in desperate need of assistance."

Ziva hoped to God that was still the case. Usually an agent in desperate need of assistance was a situation they all wanted to avoid. But it wasn't worse case scenario. Worse case scenario was when no amount of assistance could possibly help anymore.

Tony just had to hang in there for a few more minutes.

…

After all the noise and movement died down, Tony held still and listened as he counted to 200. By the end Ziva hadn't arrived, and he was as close to sure as he could be with his eyes and ears covered in duct tape that he was the only one left on the boat. Or, at least he was the only one left alive or not critically injured on the boat. With the smell of gunpowder still filling his nose over the salt water, he decided to chance it and make a move. _No guts, no glory_ he told himself, and took a few shallow breaths through his nose before he pulled himself with some difficulty into a sitting position. He half expected to hear the crack of a gun being fired at him, but worked on scooting across the deck on his butt in what his spatial awareness told him had to be the direction of the below-deck cabin. But almost immediately, he made contact with a wall.

Swearing to himself, Tony swiveled around, pushed his back up against the wall and used the purchase it gave him to get to his feet. He was hoping to find that the wall continued all the way up above his head—that would likely mean that he was leaning against the cabin where he wanted to be. But when he tentatively leaned back to check that he was right he only found open air. He was up against the railing.

Tony swore again and tried to drop to the ground carefully, but having his wrists and ankles bound together made it difficult. He ended up with pain shooting through his shoulder and up his spine as he literally hit the deck, and he had to resist the urge to let his frustration get the better of him. He had to keep a cool head. While he had no doubt that Ziva and the team would already be looking for him, he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious for before he'd woken up below deck, and so he didn't know how far out to sea they'd gotten. He couldn't stay tied up like this—God only knew if John Paulson or Martin Rose or someone else in their team who Tony hadn't seen had survived and was just waiting to pop up and throw him overboard—so he had to work on freeing himself. And there was no way he'd be able to do that if he let his frustration, anger or fear get the better of him.

Tony took a few more shallow breaths and tried to slow his racing heart. When that didn't work, he moved ahead with his plan anyway and scooted across the deck in the opposite direction that he'd come. His feet came into contact with a body along the way, and maybe a second and third, and then sent what he guessed was a gun skittering across the deck. Finally, his feet hit another wall and he started feeling his way along in search of an opening. Sweat prickled along the back of his neck, and down his arms, chest and back, and he again thanked Ziva for forcing him to put on sunscreen that morning. He didn't need severe sunburn on top of near suffocation, dehydration and the pain his arms and shoulders were going to feel for the next few days.

For a moment his mind wandered to that morning when Ziva's fingers had trailed across his shoulders after her mouth, and his heart squeezed. The first time she'd given him a massage she had ended up giving him a Vulcan nerve grip, admittedly after he had deliberately baited her into it. That had been so early on in their working relationship that he didn't even really like her yet, even if he had very much liked the opportunity to get naked and make out with her. That case felt like a hundred years ago, and he'd fallen in love with her a million times since then. He couldn't help but think that there would be something cinematically tragic about losing each other now. As much as he'd love to watch that story on the big screen, he didn't want it to become his life. _Or_ his death. So he would get the hell out of this situation, and then he would request several more massages for his arms, shoulders and neck.

His ninja really had some magic fingers on her.

The hot deck was burning though his clothes by the time his feet found an opening in the wall. Heart pounding with hope and exertion, he stretched his legs out and angled them to search for a step downwards. He found one, and then scooted forward again quickly to reach the second step. When he hit another solid platform he moaned with relief. He'd found the cabin.

Summoning what remained of his energy, Tony pulled himself up to the edge of the steps and then attempted to execute a controlled drop down into the cabin. But, as before, agility wasn't on his side right now. He smacked shins and knees against the stairs before landing on the floor of the cabin with a thud that made his teeth rattle. He smashed his right shoulder and hip and then his head into the ground, and he wasn't completely sure but it seemed to him that the pain made him black out for a second or two. Nausea again rolled in his stomach, and he forced himself to stay still and try to breathe until he was sure that he wasn't going to vomit and choke.

He let out a less-than-manly whimper as he started moving across the floor to where he remembered the table being. He wasn't completely sure, but he thought there may have been something on the tabletop beside the packages of drugs that had been pulled out of the teddy bears' bodies. If he could get a knife or some other sharp tool, he could free his hands. If he could free his hands, he could free his face and legs. And if he could get the tape off his face, he could see what he was doing, find his goddamn cell phone, call for help and then triumphantly drive the frigging boat back to shore.

It sounded like the perfect plan and, in the grand scheme of things, fairly easy to execute. Except that when he got to his feet again, turned around and strained every screaming muscle in his shoulders and arms to search the table, he didn't find anything that felt like it could help him. He was still covered in tape with no apparent way of helping himself.

Not even the duct tape over his mouth could muffle the expletive that he screamed at the ceiling.

…

The closer they got to the Sunfish and the other yacht floating beside it, the lower Ziva's hopes fell. Despite the Jayhawk hovering just 50 feet above the deck and calling for anyone on board to show themselves, there was no movement on board either boat. Surely if Tony was okay, he would have been out there and waving for help? Her heartbeat thudded as fast as the helicopter blades and she felt herself begin to panic in earnest, but she knew that would be of no help. She reached for the gun in her waistband she'd taken from Borin's car, and having the familiar weight in her hand went some way towards calming her down and helping her to focus. Not long now; just a matter of seconds and she would be on board, securing the scene, and punching and/or shooting John and Martin in their throats if she didn't find her partner in better condition that she left him that morning.

"This is the Coast Guard," came a booming voice over the Jayhawk's speaker. "Prepare to be boarded. If there is anyone on board, put down your weapons and immediately come up to the deck with your hands up."

Not a single person moved on either boat, and when they got right up close to the Sunfish's stern the reason became clear. One man lay dead on the rear deck, his arm hanging over the back of the boat and a thick train of blood dripping down into the sea. Another two men lay on the main deck, blood pooling between them and streaked across the deck in two or three directions. There was another body on the deck of the other boat, slumped against a bench seat with his head bowed to the ground. None of them were Tony.

"DiNozzo?"

Ziva snapped her head around at Gibbs' voice coming from right behind her. She shook her head at him. "I do not have a visual."

Gibbs nodded and unholstered his gun as McGee and Borin gathered around. "McGee, Borin, you take the other boat. Ziva, you're with me."

Ziva nodded and gripped her gun tightly as they all raced to the back of the boat and prepared to jump across. She squinted against the sea spray whipped up into her face from the Jayhawk's rotor blades, and then, as soon as the boats were close enough, she made the jump. Her right foot landed on the Sunfish with a minor skid, but she kept her balance and jumped over the dead man—she thought it might have been Oscar McCarthy—on the deck.

"NCIS!" she yelled, but between the boat's engine and the helicopter noise she doubted she'd be heard. "If anyone can hear me, come out with your hands up!"

"On your six," Gibbs said from behind her, and then she felt his hand come to rest on the back of her shoulder.

Guns raised and at the ready, they covered the distance to the main deck quickly. Standing over the bodies she'd seen from the other boat, Ziva confirmed that they were John Paulson and Martin Rose. She nudged the gun that was lying just out of Martin's hand well out of his reach and, without taking her eyes of her surroundings, she squatted to reach his neck and feel for a pulse.

"Dead," she told Gibbs, and then crab walked over to John. When she pressed her fingers to his throat, John let out a pained grunt. But he didn't move, and his pulse was weak. "He does not have long," she said. "We need to get him out of here quickly."

"We'll chopper him out," Gibbs said.

Ziva nodded and stood again and then stepped around the blood on the deck as she approached the cabin.

Below deck, Tony sat still and concentrated on the droning noise that had grown louder over the last two minutes and now seemed to surround him. Maybe it was just his hope talking, but it sounded to him like a helicopter. The question was whether the helicopter belonged to the good guys or the bad guys. He was trying to calculate how lucky he was when a strong hand suddenly landed on his shoulder and scared the crap out of him. Instinctively, Tony jerked away, pitching to the side on the bench seat and kicking up with his feet. He made contact with the person's leg—was it John? Had he survived? Or was it someone worse?—and then pulled them up and kicked out again, hoping to catch them in the stomach. He only caught dead air, though, and the action caused his body a lot more pain than his first kick probably caused his assailant. He brain scrambled to come up with a new plan. Maybe he could let them pull him out and then charge them somehow? But then something made him stop: the scent of Ziva's moisturizer. Maybe that was his hope talking too, but he stopped struggling for a second, and it gave the person time to put their hands on either side of his neck. The touch was gentle, calming, and this time Tony could _definitely_ smell Ziva's moisturizer. She'd worn the same lotion ever since he'd met her, and whenever he got close he could smell it over everything else she wore. It was a smell he associated with home, comfort and having someone at his back.

He was saved. His ninja had come through for him. And John and Martin and everyone else involved in this case could _suck it so hard_.

He felt the tension of the tape binding his ankles suddenly release and he was finally able to separate his legs. He groaned a _thank you_ , and then followed her lead to stand up when she put her hands on either side of his waist. He turned his back to her to give her access to his wrists, and when she cut the tape he felt a millisecond of pure relief until he tried to move his hands in front of him. All the muscles in his shoulders and arms, and a few too many in his chest as well, screamed with pain at the change in position, so much so that it brought tears to his eyes. He groaned at the burning, stabbing, throbbing sensation feeling even as he tried to roll his shoulders and stretch, but it didn't do a whole lot of good and he knew that he'd need a couple of long sessions with a physiotherapist to set everything right again. Ziva might have magic fingers, but they weren't _that_ magic.

Despite the pain he lifted his hands to his face to try to claw at the tape covering him, but Ziva drew them back down again and encouraged him to lean against the table. Tony let his shoulders sag. Okay, it probably made more sense for the person with the unobstructed eyesight to deal with the mess covering his head. He just wanted it gone as fast as possible so that he could breathe and blink and drink something.

He expected that Ziva would just find the end piece and start pulling and unwrapping the tape. But when he felt the metal of what he knew had to be her knife press against his throat, he panicked. Not because he thought she was going to cut him, at least not intentionally. But because they were on a boat that was rocking just enough on the waves to make him think that she might cut him _un_ intentionally. He wasn't prepared to loose even one layer of skin to this exercise, and it all suddenly seemed like a very, very bad idea. He pulled back from her, but Ziva just gave his shoulder a gently squeeze in understanding before going right ahead with her plan anyway. He felt the dull edge of her knife run from the corner of his jaw on his left side up and towards his ear, and when the boat rolled a little less gently to the right he started to panic that she was going to accidentally slice his ear _off_. He squeaked and pulled back again, and then Ziva put her hand on the back of his head.

"Hold still," he heard her yell into his ear.

Easy for her to say. Tony dropped his head back and let out a frustrated scream, and then he reached out to grip her hips between his hands and steady himself. Okay. He could do this. If he could trust anyone's hand with a knife, it had to be Ziva's. There may have been a day in the past when she might have messed with his head to make him think she really would cut off his ear or nose or tongue, but those days were gone. She'd proven herself to be pretty fond of him these days, and he just had to trust that she'd protect his face and jugular as best she could.

He drew in as deep a breath through his nose as he could manage and then nodded at her to go ahead. This time he felt the blade run from the corner of his right jaw up to his ear, and then across to his nose. When that was done, she started to peel back the tape. Tony gripped her hips and braced himself for the world's largest Band-Aid being ripped off his face, but in the end it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. It stung like the burning aftermath of a brutal slap across the face, but he didn't scream or cry or otherwise embarrass himself. When the piece was finally liberated from the bottom half of his face, Tony broke into a huge smile.

"Air!" he cried, and sucked in a deep breath. "Ziva, air is so good. I don't know if you know that, but it's just such a wonderful thing."

Ziva's fingers ghosted across his jaw before her lips came down on his for a few fleeting but glorious seconds. He ended up with an even bigger smile.

"I'm pleased to see you too," he sighed. "Well, _feel_ you." He paused. "Please don't cut me." He thought she said something in reply, but between the tape still over his ears and the ongoing drone of the engine it was hard to tell. "What?"

"Hold still and I won't," she yelled.

Tony nodded. "Okay. Is that a helicopter?"

"Coast Guard," she yelled, and then put her knife up above his ear. He pressed his lips together tightly and held still as she drew the blade down behind his left ear to his neck, and then peeled the piece of tape off. Immediately, Tony's hearing got a lot better.

"Damn, that's loud," he said, but he wasn't complaining. "Did you get John and Martin?"

"Martin is dead," she told him, and this time he heard her perfectly well. He would have smiled, but he was annoyed by the information, even if he expected it. "John was alive when we came onboard, but barely. They are working on getting him onto the chopper now." She paused. "Was that you?"

"Who shot them?" he asked with surprise. "I'd like to say that I managed to save my ass by shooting a bunch of bad guys while blind and with my hands tied behind my back, but you saw what I ate for breakfast, Ziva. I'm feeling a bit sluggish."

That got him another quick kiss. "You should have had the oatmeal."

He scoffed, because that was never going to happen. "John had better live," he told her, as if Ziva had any control over it. "I'm really looking forward to testifying at his trial."

"So am I," Ziva said, and then started on freeing his other ear. "Coast Guard agents have arrested Sacha and Julie. We can interrogate them this afternoon."

"It's not that I'm not happy about that," he said. "But they didn't wrap my head in duct tape and threaten to throw me into the ocean."

"If they had, they could have expected to meet the same fate when I got my hands on them," Ziva said darkly.

Tony grinned, pleased to be on her (very) good side. "You're a hell of a woman, sweetcheeks."

"Are you all right?" she checked.

"Yeah," he answered automatically.

"Tony," she said, and this time he heard the weight in her tone. It occurred to him that she was really asking, and that she was really worried.

"Pretty sure I've got a concussion," he admitted. "I took a couple of hits to the head. Passed out a few times. Luckily didn't vomit."

"Is any of this blood yours?"

"I have no idea," he answered honestly. "But I don't think so. My arms hurt like a bitch."

"I am not surprised."

"Hey, when you pull the take off my eyes, can you please try to save my eyebrows?"

Ziva breathed out a laugh. "I will try."

"You can't make fun of me if I lose them," he warned.

"I promise. Hold still."

Again, Tony pressed his lips together in a tight line and prayed for Ziva's steady hands as she ran the knife from his hairline down the left side of his face, and then repeated the motion on the right.

"This may get uncomfortable," she warned him, and then ran the knife down the center of his forehead and very, very carefully down the bridge of his nose. The sharp point of the knife only pressed into his skin once, and he forgave her immediately. What was a nick or two here or there between friends when she was trying to save his face?

"Jesus! What happened to you?"

Tony smirked at Borin's voice coming towards them. "Nothing much," he replied dryly. "One of the cruise ship's extreme exfoliation treatments got out of hand."

"Is that duct tape?" Her voice was closer now, and he guessed she was standing beside Ziva.

"They covered his entire face," Ziva told her, and Tony was surprised by the controlled fury that had entered her voice. "Bound his wrists and ankles."

Borin swore under her breath, and for the first time Tony thought about how scary he must have looked to Ziva when she found him.

"But I'm fine," he assured them. "Aside from the concussion. And imminent loss of my eyebrows."

"And a fair chunk of your hair too, I'll bet," Borin said. "How are you supposed to get that out? Stick your head in the freezer or something?"

"Shave it," came Gibbs' voice from further away. "You're gonna have a proper Marine cut, DiNozzo."

"Short back and sides, boss," Tony said without the slightest hint of enthusiasm. "Can't wait."

"Borin, chopper's about to leave," Gibbs said. "Need you on it."

"Got it," Borin called, and then gave Tony's shoulder a gently punch. "Good to see you in one piece."

Tony waited until he heard her climb the steps out of the cabin before he shook Ziva's hips urgently with his hands. "Ziva, I don't want a Marine haircut."

"I will do what I can," she told him, and then started peeling the tape back from the right side of his face. "Now, this is probably going to hurt."

"It already does." He squeezed his eyes shut behind the tape and did a full body wince as she peeled and peeled and peeled. To his great relief, the tape hadn't stuck to his eyelid, but it felt like he really was loosing an eyebrow. "Careful," he warned unnecessarily.

"Your eyebrows will grow back," Ziva reminded him. "But you cannot go through life with duct tape on your eyes." She gave the tape a final tug, and Tony chanced opening his right eye. The cabin was dim enough that the sudden light didn't hurt too much, but he had to blink a few times before he could focus on Ziva's worried face. He could think of one or two times before now when he had been happier to see her, but this came a close third.

"Ah, you're so pretty," he sighed on a smile.

Some of Ziva's worry melted away to be replaced with a relieved smile, and she glanced over her shoulder for the others before cupping his cheek in her hand and leaning in to kiss him softly.

"How much eyebrow do I have left?"

Her eyes moved up a fraction. "At least…80 per cent," she estimated.

He popped the eyebrow in question. "That's not so bad."

"One more to go. And then we will work out what to do about your hair."

He would have liked to watch her as she leaned so close to him and worked on peeling off the last bit of tape from his other eye, but he couldn't help once again squeezing his eyes shut and cringing through his entire body. As she worked the _whump whump whump_ of the helicopter blades started moving away, and that gave him the space to realize that the pounding in his head wasn't from the noise. He really, _really_ wasn't looking forward to the next couple of hours, and wondered if he would allow himself to swallow a handful of painkillers.

He felt a final pinch as the last corner of tape came off his skin, and even though his head throbbed, and it felt like there were half a dozen ice picks driving into his shoulders, and he was pretty sure he was going to vomit a couple of times before the sun went down, he still felt better than he had in hours.

"You are free," Ziva declared with a smile.

Tony blinked and gave her hips another shake. "I'm not dead!" he exclaimed, and then lifted his hands to rub his stinging face. "But I am very sticky."

"We can work with sticky," Ziva said. "We cannot work with dead."

"Always look on the bright side," he said.

They shared a smile and then their eyes fell to the parcels of cocaine sitting on the table.

"Well, we wanted hard evidence," Ziva said.

Tony nodded just as McGee stepped down into the cabin. The probie looked sincerely relieved to see him, which was quite a departure from how he'd greeted Tony earlier in the day.

"You okay?" McGee asked.

Tony nodded. "Sure. No big deal."

"Who was on the other boat?" Ziva asked him.

"Not sure," McGee said with a shrug as he walked over. "Two dead guys, no ID. And no one else." He eyed Tony. "I assume you had something to do with that?"

Tony shook his head. "No, I sat that gunfight out."

McGee eyed the packages of cocaine and the teddy bears. "So, I guess I've got a crime scene to process."

"Just you?" Tony asked.

"And Gibbs." He looked between them. "Gibbs wants you to interrogate Sacha and Julie," he told Ziva, and then looked at Tony. "And he's sending you to hospital."

It wasn't how Tony wanted to spend his afternoon, but truth be told he thought that a quick medical examination might be a good idea this time. He looked at Ziva. "Just giving you a heads up, sweetcheeks. If they offer me drugs, I'm going to take them."

Ziva and McGee shared an amused, knowing look. Loopy Tony was just around the corner.

"Well," she said, "it will certainly make it easier to get all the tape out of your hair if you are stoned and agreeable."

And Tony had to admit that she had a good point.

* * *

So, I know pacing isn't quite right and there are a bunch of other problems, but hey, I'm just an amateur. And I just want to get this thing out there and be done. Hopefully won't be much longer before the final chapter is posted. Yay!


	18. Chapter 18

When Sacha Paulson saw Ziva walk into the interview room at the Coast Guard, she sighed, rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"I knew there was something weird about you two."

Ziva tried not to take offense and introduced herself formally. "Special Agent Ziva David, NCIS," she said, and took the seat across the table from her.

"What is NCIS?" Sacha asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service," Ziva explained, even as she heard Tony's perpetually irritated sigh in her head. "I am investigating the death of Ensign Will Crawford in April this year." She paused and waited for that to sink in, and felt enormous satisfaction at the way Sacha suddenly went very still before shifting in her seat and casting her eyes down. She may as well have hung a 'guilty' sign over her head.

Ziva took a photo of Will and Alicia Crawford out of the folder in her hand and placed it in front of Sacha. It was a beautiful photo of the two of them taken on board the Caribbean Carnivalé the day before Will died. "Do you recognize this man?"

Sacha glanced at he photo and appeared to weigh up her options. Truth or lie? She pursed her lips and hesitated too long, so Ziva gave her a nudge.

"Sacha, if you want to help yourself and Julie, you must work with us." She took a punt that Sacha would be a lot more concerned about Julie's welfare than John's. "Things will not be good for either of you from here on, but there are levels of how bad they could be. Do you understand?"

Sacha crossed her legs and her shoulders dropped as she sighed and took the correct option. "Yes," she said, and answered Ziva's earlier question. "He and his wife were on a cruise with us earlier in the year."

"You spent time with them?" Ziva asked.

"Yes." She narrowed her eyes again. "But they didn't insist on hanging around as us much as you and your husband, or whoever he was, did."

Ziva supposed the comment was meant to hurt her. But given that she and Tony had gone on the cruise with the specific intention of gathering all the information they could about Sacha and her friends, she took it as a comment on a job well done.

"You had dinner with them?"

"A few times," Sacha said, heaving a sigh. "I didn't mind them so much. The wife, Alicia, was a bit much. She had this habit of drawing pictures of what she was talking about with her hands. But she was fun. I didn't talk to him much, but John didn't seem to like him." She paused to let out a bitter laugh. "John doesn't really like anyone except Martin and his brother."

"Jim," Ziva said.

Sacha seemed surprised that Ziva knew that, but nodded. "Yeah." She leaned forward. "Where is John?"

Ziva clasped her hands together on the tabletop. "He is currently in a critical condition in hospital," she said, and managed to keep the vicious pleasure she felt at that out of her voice. "I believe he is undergoing emergency surgery to remove a bullet from his chest."

Sacha gasped softly and Ziva was surprised by the worry that crossed her face. "Did you do that to him?" she asked, her voice low.

"No," Ziva replied, and managed not to add _But I would have liked to_. "It appears that he, Martin and Oscar McCarthy were involved in a shootout onboard the _Sunfish_ with your drug running partners. Salvatore?" she baited, and then looked at her folder as if it contained all the pertinent information. "It seems John was the only one breathing when they were found. Well, _barely_ breathing," she amended with a callous shrug.

But Sacha didn't focus on that. "What about drug running partners?" she asked innocently.

Ziva blatantly rolled her eyes. "Sacha," she said, disappointment dripping from her tongue. "Remember we just talked about helping yourself and Julie?"

"Where's Julie?" she asked.

"She is being interviewed by another agent," Ziva told her, and wondered to herself if Gibbs had already managed to break Julie. She seemed to be the weaker link, so Ziva thought it was likely. "And I sincerely hope for both your sakes that she is being honest."

"Honest about what?" Sacha asked, getting worked up. "You were asking about Will and Alicia, and now you're talking about drugs. Why don't you get your story straight? Or are you just throwing darts at the board until one of them hits?"

Ziva groaned to herself. Nothing better than an arrogant criminal in handcuffs. "Okay," she said with a sigh that told Sacha how ridiculous she was being. Perhaps they could get through this quicker if Ziva laid it out for her and got a confession. "I will tell you how this looks to us, and then you can tell me that I am correct. Your friends Rodney and Nadine live on a property in Samaná where they grow cocoa plants, which they harvest and turn into cocaine."

Sacha's eyes widened before she slumped right down. She had to know right there that she was completely screwed.

"You, John and the Roses have an agreement with them where you collect the drugs and take them to the United States onboard the Caribbean Carnivalé, smuggled inside teddy bears," Ziva went on, dragging her fingertips across the tabletop as if tracing the route. "Herschelle, the entertainment director, and one of the security screeners on board the ship help you get the bears onto the ship without detection. When the ship docks in Key West, John and Martin take the cocaine-stuffed bears off the ship and meet up with Oscar McCarthy on board the _Sunfish_. They then head out to sea to meet up with your business partners, led by Salvatore, where they hand off the drugs for payment." She paused. "How am I doing?"

Sacha just glared.

"I will take that as encouragement," Ziva said. "Now. Back in April, Will Crawford either overheard John and Martin talking about your drug running plans, or saw something that made him suspect they were up to something. You could not risk him talking to the authorities, so you poured rubbing alcohol into his cocktail. He died. And on a later cruise, another passenger you made friends with, Ken Klein, stumbled upon something he was not meant to, and John beat him up to keep him quiet. Then, when you suspected me and my partner of discovering what was going on, John attempted to attack us."

Sacha started shaking her head, as if clueless about all of this. "I don't know anything about you and Ken being attacked. And I had no idea that Will died until you told me."

Ziva arched a dubious eyebrow. "You did not notice that he and Alicia were no longer on board?"

"Of course I noticed," Sacha said. "But I just assumed they didn't get back on board by departure time and we left without them."

"A lethal amount of rubbing alcohol was found in his system," Ziva told her.

"Weird," Sacha said.

"You gave me rubbing alcohol for the bug bites on my legs."

Sacha rolled her eyes. "Because rubbing alcohol is a controlled substance," she drawled. "You said John attacked you and whoever that other guy was."

"Ken Klein."

"Right." She shrugged. "I can't be held responsible if my husband goes off on his own and has a brain snap that leads him to attack people."

Ziva regarded her with a touch of wonder. She was going to pin it all on her husband. The same husband who was unlikely to live through the night and wouldn't be able to argue his side. That was pretty cold. Ziva had to hope that Julie's conscience was guiltier than her friend's, and that she would admit at least some knowledge of the murder and attacks.

She tried a different route. "You know what I do wonder about?" she asked. "What happened between John and Salvatore that ended with a mass shooting at sea."

Sacha's mouth twitched, but she shrugged. "Who knows? They all have pretty big egos. Anything could have set them off."

Ziva drummed her fingers on the table as she pretended to think that over. "Hmm," she grunted. "I have another theory." She paused as Sacha twitched again. "My theory is that you and Julie were skimming off the top of the delivery without John or Martin knowing. And that while they went out to sea to make the exchange, you and Julie sold baggies of cocaine out of a coffee shop near port. My guess is that you'd been doing that for a while, and Salvatore was getting sick of being short changed. So he confronted John and Martin about it this morning, and…well. It all went to hell."

Sacha took that in silently for a full ten seconds with a quivering lip before she said, "You have no proof of that." But her voice lacked the confidence and bravado of earlier. She was close to breaking.

In response, Ziva pulled the small baggie of cocaine she'd lifted from Sacha's handbag out of her pocket and placed it on the table. "I have that," she said, hoping it would be the final straw. "That was in your possession this morning. And I am sure I will have multiple security camera recordings of you dealing out of that coffee shop." She leaned her elbows on the table. "I also have the testimony of Julie, Herschelle, the coffee shop owner, Ken Klein, Alicia Crawford, not to mention John, if he pulls through. Oh, and we will pick up Jim Paulson as well. He is bankrolling the operation, yes?"

Sacha bit the inside of her lip and averted her eyes.

"Come on, Sacha," Ziva said, treading more gently now that she was close to the edge. "Help yourself."

Sacha looked at her again and tears welled in her eyes. She broke. "We were just trying to find a way out," she said. "Me and Julie. John and Martin have practically held us hostage all these years. Going along with all their dumb plans because they were too scared of what two guys going on cruises together would look like. " She rolled her eyes so hard she almost fell out of her chair. "I hate them so much. They forced us into this. Me and Julie, we were just trying to get enough money together so that we could leave them and disappear."

"And you were willing to kill Will Crawford to make that happen?" Ziva asked. But Sacha shook her head.

"No, no. I didn't know anything about that, I promise," she said, and Ziva had to admit she sounded sincere. "John had said something about him poking his nose in and needing to make sure he didn't say anything, but I swear I didn't know anything about him being poisoned."

"With rubbing alcohol," Ziva repeated. "That you carry in your handbag."

Sacha nodded. "Right. I carry it all the time. John knows that. He could've taken it anytime and slipped it in Will's drink."

"Without you seeing him?"

Sacha threw her hands up. "Maybe. I don't have eyes on him 24/7."

"What about Ken Klein?"

She looked guilty at that one. "Yes, I knew John beat him up. And I knew he tried to beat up your husband, or whoever."

"My partner," Ziva said.

Sacha paused and looked at her curiously. "He's really your husband? Did he know you were investigating—"

"My _work_ partner," Ziva emphasized.

"Oh." She shrugged. "Could've fooled me. You _did_ fool me."

Ziva waved her hand, urging her to get back on track. "So you knew John was going to attack us."

"Not exactly," Sacha said. "I didn't know about the other guy until after John had already beaten him up. With you guys, after I told him your _partner_ had been snooping in our room, John ran out after you and I kind of assumed he was looking to do some damage."

"But you did not stop him."

Sacha just shrugged, and Ziva supposed she wasn't terribly offended.

"Sacha, is there anything I've said that you would like to set the record straight on?" she asked.

"I did it against my will," Sacha protested. "John and Jim would have killed me if I'd pulled out. You have to believe me."

"I will certainly make a note of that," Ziva told her. "But that is something that your defense attorney can argue in your trial." She stood up and picked up her folder. It was time to confer with Gibbs.

"Do you think John's going to die?" Sacha asked as Ziva headed for the door.

Ziva turned back to her. "I am not sure," she said. "Although I sincerely hope he does not. There are things he has done that I would very much like him to answer for."

Sacha's eyes drifted away as she thought it over, and then snapped back to Ziva when she made her decision. "Eight years in a crappy marriage. To be honest with you, I really hope the bastard dies."

It was one statement that Ziva had no doubt was the truth.

…

After several hours at the hospital, Tony was getting restless. He'd been lucky to be pushed through triage quickly thanks to a manageable number of other patients and the potential that he had a head injury. Fortunately, his CT scan hadn't found any fractures or bleeds, but he still had a hell of a concussion that his doctor said warranted at least an overnight stay on the ward to make sure that it didn't turn into something to be very concerned about. As soon as a bed became available up there, he'd be moved. For now, he was stuck in a bay in the ER.

The killer headache he'd been gifted as a result of the knocks to his head and gone into full bloom, and just as he'd mentioned to Ziva, Tony took the offered pain relief (and added nausea relief) with relish. They'd taken the edge off the pain and made him feel nice and light and liquid all over, but he was bored and didn't have his phone to help pass the time. God only knew where that had ended up. He hoped whoever was working the crime scene managed to not only recover it, but decided that he could have it back instead of submitting it into evidence. That phone had most of the things he needed to live his life on it. But more importantly, it had some very nice and very private photos of Ziva that he didn't want anyone else to see.

The idea that they might be found made him feel a bit less liquid and light, and he sat up on the gurney and looked around. There was a phone on the wall. He should call Ziva and tell her to grab his phone from Oscar McCarthy's boat before anyone else could. He swung his legs off the bed and reached back to make sure his hospital gown was closed securely before getting up and taking the two steps over to the phone. But when he reached for it, it occurred to him that he had _no idea_ what Ziva's number was. Or McGee's, or anyone's. Their numbers were all stored in his phone—both his cell and his desk phone—and so he never _dialed_ them.

"Uh-oh."

"What's the _uh-oh_ , DiNozzo?"

Tony turned his head quickly at the sound of Borin's voice, and then immediately regretted it. The room spun and his stomach heaved, but before he crashed to the floor Borin caught him and maneuvered him back to the bed.

"Whoa, easy there."

"Don't sneak up on a man with a head injury," Tony told her, and settled back into his semi-reclined position on the gurney. "He might vomit on your shoes."

"Like that's never happened before," Borin drawled, and pulled his blanket up to his waist. "Who were you trying to call?"

Tony put his hand on his head and squeezed his eyes shut as he rode out the last few moments of his brain's wild trip around the room. "Ziva. It's really important."

"Where's your phone?"

He opened his eyes and waggled his finger at her. "Exactly." He noticed a small crease form between Borin's eyebrows, and he gestured at his head. "They gave me some awesome painkillers and they make me kind of…" He trailed off in favor of making a few wild, explanatory gestures with his hands. Borin nodded slowly.

"Okay, then. This should be fun. Want me to call her?"

Tony gasped with the realization that Borin would have Ziva's number. "Yes! Very important."

Borin pulled out her cell and her eyes flicked between him and the phone as she navigated to Ziva's number. There was a blatant smirk on her face. "So, painkillers make you crazy, huh?"

Tony sighed and nodded, completely missing that it was information he probably should have kept from her. "So crazy."

"Well, that's a fun fact," she said, and then lifted the phone to her ear. After a few long seconds she looked at him. "Voicemail," she told him, and then started her message. "Hey, it's Borin. I'm with DiNozzo at the hospital and he's all kinds of crazy on the drugs, but he's very clear that he needs to talk to you."

"My cell phone!" Tony said loudly.

"His cell phone," Borin repeated.

"Gotta get that sucka from the boat!" he continued.

Borin chuckled. "Yeah, he wants you to get it from Oscar McCarthy's boat."

"Don't let it get collected as evidence!" Tony called.

Borin's smile grew. " _What_ have you got on that thing, DiNozzo?" she asked, before repeating the message for Ziva. "He doesn't want his phone collected as evidence," she said, and then addressed Tony again. "You know she's handling interviews and McGee is handling the crime scene? You should be calling McGee."

Tony pointed at her dramatically. "He is NOT to go though my cell phone!" he insisted. "It's _private_ …There are _private_ things that are NOT for McGee."

"I'll call McGee," Borin decided, and hung up.

"Not McGee!" Tony whined. "You're not listening. Take off your earmuffs!"

"My what?"

Tony gestured at his ears with frustration. "God!"

"Do you want me to call him or not?"

Tony heaved a sigh and tried to think clearly. "Just don't give him my password."

"I don't know your password, DiNozzo," Borin pointed out, and flicked through her phone again to find McGee's number.

Tony clicked his fingers as a lightning bolt of clarity hit him. "Yes! You're right. And he probably doesn't have my fingerprints with him." He gestured at the phone. "Do that."

Borin shook her head as she connected to McGee. "Hey, it's Borin," she said, and then leaned casually against Tony's bed. "So, did you guys know that DiNozzo's not good with painkillers?"

Tony glared at her. "Don't mock me," he warned. "I know people who can put the evil eye on you. I don't really believe in all that, but maybe it's true, so you'd better watch out or else a bunch of Italian ladies are going to mess you up. To say nothing of what Ziva's going to do to you. You're all buddy-buddy BFFs, but if she had to pick sides I am quietly confident that you're in the dust, my friend. _Cursed_ dust. Like in The Mummy where the High Priest could make all the sand in the desert rise up and made his face appear in it, and if you saw that you were screwed. Obviously, Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz survived it, but I don't know if you're Rachel Weisz. You're cool, but are you outrunning a sand mummy cool? I'm not sure you are. So you'd better watch out. I don't even think—" He stopped suddenly as Borin hung up. "What are you doing?"

"McGee has your phone," she told him. "There's only a tiny bit of blood on it, so he decided not to enter it into evidence. He'll get it to you tonight."

Tony blinked. "You didn't even speak to him."

"I did!" Borin insisted. "You were just focused on sand mummies or something."

Tony pursed his lips and reclined back again. He wondered if she was messing with him. "Whose blood?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't give him my password, did you?"

"I already said—"

"Right, I remember," he said, and he did.

Borin eyed him. "You didn't tell me if you're okay. Aside from the drugs."

"Ol' faithful concussion," he told her, pointing to the general area. "But they think it's okay."

Borin opened her mouth, frowned, and then tilted her head to the side as she regarded him. "They think it's okay?" she repeated, as if she didn't think he understood what he was saying.

"Yeah," Tony almost sand. "Probably that bit of my brain has been toughened up by all the times Gibbs has hit me. Like tempered glass. I have a tempered brain." He nodded to himself for a good five seconds. "Yeah, I feel great."

"Uh-huh," Borin grunted, sounding unconvinced. She quickly texted someone and then looked up at him again. "Where's your doctor?"

Tony shrugged. "What are you doing here?"

"I escorted John Paulson," she reminded him. "He's in surgery. Will probably still be a few more hours."

"Maybe I can interview him when he gets out."

Borin cocked her head to the side. "I don't think either of you will be in a condition to do that for a while."

Tony made a 'pft' noise. "That's what you say. Head injuries have never slowed me down before."

Borin nodded, humoring him, and looked down at her phone when it beeped.

"What's that?" Tony wanted to know.

Borin shot off a text in reply and then put her phone in her pocket. "Nothing. Just, um, we got Sacha Paulson and Julie Rose in custody, and we've rounded up Herschelle and one of the security guards from the ship. Plus the owner of the café where Sacha and Julie were dealing this morning."

"I should probably do something more constructive than just sit here," Tony said, and ran a hand through his hair. Or at least he attempted to. The duct tape that remained stuck to his hair at the back of his head got in the way, so he started picking at it.

"You know you kind of look like a Lego man right now," Borin told him. "Or a Ken doll."

"Don't mock me," he repeated. "Or a sand mummy will get you."

Borin took a seat on the gurney by his feet. "So, how was the cruise? Aside from the part where you were almost drowned."

"Cruisy," he told her, and then gave her a wink. "I got a little sun."

"I see that. I'm sorry I couldn't make it."

"I'm not," he replied bluntly. When Borin arched an amused eyebrow, he backtracked. "Sorry, it's the drugs. I mean me and Ziva work great together, and if you've got a partner you work great with, you want to stay with them. No offense."

"None taken," Borin said. "So, you had a good time together?"

He winked again. "We always do."

"How good?"

He pointed at her. "I see you fishin' for fishies."

Borin grinned. "Gimme a fishy, then."

"Get your own fishy."

"Mr DiNozzo?"

"I am that fishy," he declared, and looked at the dark-haired nurse who stood by the curtain to his ER bay. She paused and looked at Borin.

"Apparently this little fishy gets weird on painkillers," Borin told her.

The nurse accepted that, and then wheeled a tray table into the bay that had a bowl of yellow liquid and two big sponges on it. "Mr DiNozzo, we're going to try to get that tape out of your hair," she told him.

"Yes, please," he said, and then another nurse walked into the bay. She raised her eyebrows.

"Wow. That's a lot of tape, huh?"

"I think he looks like a Lego man," Borin told them helpfully.

Tony held his hand up at her. "Sand mummies."

"What happened, exactly?" the dark-haired nurse asked.

"I was captured by drug dealers who wrapped duct tape around me from head to toe with the intention of dropping me off the back of their boat into the ocean."

Both nurses looked at him impassively, before looking to Borin. Borin nodded.

"He's a weird little Lego man, but he's honest."

"Have the police been called?" the second nurse, a blonde, asked.

"We are the police," Tony told her. Again, the nurses looked to Borin.

Borin shrugged. "We are the police," she repeated.

"Okay, then," the blonde nurse murmured, and came up on Tony's right side. The dark-haired nurse went left, and she positioned the tabletop over Tony's lap where they could both reach it. "So, we're going to use olive oil," she told him. "It should help break down the stickiness so the tape can slide right out."

Tony scrunched his face into a frown. "Oil? Why don't I just soak my head in a bucket of water for a while?"

"Doesn't work as fast," Borin said. "Didn't you ever see those duct tape episodes of _Mythbusters_? They made a functioning boat out of the stuff and it held together."

Tony slowly looked up at her. He had intended to make fun of her, even if his brain couldn't quite find the insult he wanted, but forgot that when he saw she had her phone out again and aimed at him. "Are you filming me?"

Borin grinned gleefully. "You bet I am."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Ugh, that's so mean."

"Depends on who you ask," Borin said with a shrug. "I am positive that Ziva will enjoy seeing this."

"You're so mean," he repeated with a shake of his head. He couldn't think of anything else to say. Meanwhile, the nurses had put on their gloves and the dark-haired one had an oily sponge in her hand, ready to go. Tony sighed. "Really?"

"Let's give it a try," she said patiently.

Tony held up his hand. "Okay. But if you're going to cover me in oil, I feel like I should probably know your name first."

The nurses laughed.

"I'm Holly," said the blonde and then gestured to other one. "And that's Carmen."

Tony nodded a hello, and then felt the urge to explain himself. "This is not normal for me."

"Sweetheart, hardly anyone who comes through the doors here is having a normal day," Carmen assured him, and then took the oil-laden sponge and pressed it to the back of his head. A few drops dripped down onto the shoulders of his hospital grown, and Tony looked over at Borin. Her face was red with laughter.

"This is maybe the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me," he told her.

Borin gathered her composure just long enough to retort, "I'm kind of disappointed by that, DiNozzo."

Holly pressed her sponge against the other side of his head. "Just try to relax," she advised him in a soothing voice.

He looked up at her curiously. She was probably 15 years younger than him, pretty and smelled faintly of roses under hospital antiseptic when she was up close. Tony was pretty sure she wasn't hitting on him, but he felt like he had to shut it down just in case she was.

"I'm in a relationship."

Holly glanced between him and Borin and Carmen, and while Borin went back to laughing her ass off, Holly mostly managed to stifle her amused grin and patted his shoulder.

"I'll just keep waiting for my Prince Charming, then," she told him, and somehow managed not to make him feel like a creepy idiot.

He felt olive oil slide down the back of his neck and suppressed a shudder. "I'm sure it's the painkillers, but if you can just assure me that there isn't a jellyfish sitting on my head right now I'd sure appreciate it."

"It's the painkillers," Borin assured him. "But the gator's real."

Tony's eyes flicked around the room just to be safe. "You're so mean."

Borin grinned around the side of her phone. "Then it's a good thing you already found your Cinderella and don't need to rely on me, DiNozzo."

…

Dusk had settled by the time Ziva made it to the hospital. Guilt that things had taken so long shadowed her down the hall to the nurses' station, but she tried to shrug it off. She knew this would not be the only time when she would have to make a choice between work and her partner, nor the only time she would feel guilty about the choice she made. It was something she would have to get used to. She reasoned with herself that Tony was not dying. He was not critically injured or having surgery. Borin had texted her that he was fine, and that his overnight stay was simply a precaution. And she reasoned that if their roles were reversed, she would have wanted Tony to finish off their important investigation before coming to sit with her in hospital and do nothing. She didn't doubt that he would feel the same way.

But she still felt guilty.

The nurse behind the desk looked up as Ziva approached and gave her a typical nurse smile: pleasant, but already impatient and encouraging her to get to the point immediately. Ziva held up her badge out of habit.

"I am Agent David, NCIS. My partner, Agent DiNozzo, was brought up from the ER this afternoon."

The nurse nodded. "He's in 212, down the hall and to the right. But visiting hours are almost over."

Ziva didn't have any intention of adhering to visiting hours, but for now she nodded her thanks and went in the direction she was pointed. The lights were off in his room and the curtain was drawn around the bed, shielding him from view of passers by. Ziva assumed that meant he was sleeping, so she tip-toed around the curtain as quietly as possible. As expected, Tony's eyes were closed and he was curled up on his side. What she didn't expect was that Borin would still be there, sitting in a visitor's chair by the window.

Borin looked up from her phone as Ziva entered her peripheral vision, and tossed her an easy smile. "Hi there."

Ziva laid her jacket over the bottom of Tony's bed. "Good evening," she returned. "Have you been here all afternoon?"

Borin bobbed her head from side to side. "Been going back and forth with John Paulson. He's under police guard in the ICU."

"He pulled through?"

Borin nodded. "Yeah, for now. It's still a waiting game, though." She gestured at Tony. "He started talking about going down there and going Charles Manson on him a little while ago, so I thought I'd hang out for a bit and make sure that didn't happen."

Ziva frowned. "Charles Manson?"

"I think he meant Charles Bronson."

Ziva shook her head. "Who is that?"

"Tough guy actor from the 80s." Borin waved her phone at her. "I sent you a couple of videos for when you're in the mood for a laugh. Did you bring his phone? Because he's been real insistent about that."

Ziva cracked a smile, recalling the strange voicemail she'd received from Borin earlier in the day. "Yes, I brought his phone."

Borin eyed her with amused curiosity. "What's he got on there that's so precious?"

Ziva shrugged. "I have no idea. Probably a list of his 100 favorite movies of all time that took him months to consider and finalize."

"Sounds about right," Borin decided. She stood and stretched. "I might leave you with all this," she gestured at Tony, "if you don't mind."

"It was good of you to stay," Ziva told her. "I am sure he appreciated it."

"Hard to say. He was pretty doped up. By the way, I'm not sure if you talked to McGee but he got all your stuff off the Caribbean Carnivalé. I think he took it back to his hotel room."

Ziva hadn't even thought of that, but she felt suddenly exceptionally grateful. "Thank you." As Borin slipped behind her, Ziva leaned over Tony and peered at the back of his head. The tape appeared to be gone and his hair looked mostly intact, aside from a few weird patches. "How did they get the tape out?"

"Olive oil," Borin said as she slipped her jacket on. "It's in one of the videos I sent you. It might be my favorite." She paused and looked at Ziva knowingly. "He thought one of the nurses was hitting on him so he made sure she knew he was already in a relationship."

Ziva rolled her eyes. _Of course_ he thought a nurse was hitting on him. It was classic DiNozzo—

The thought died suddenly when Ziva realized what Borin was saying. Tony, in his drugged state, had confirmed for Borin that he and Ziva had taken a big step. She peeked at Borin to confirm, and Borin waggled her eyebrows. Ziva rolled her eyes again and shot a glare at her sleeping partner.

"Idiot," she muttered.

Borin bumped her with her shoulder before she headed for the door. "My lips are sealed, David."

"Thank you," Ziva called after her.

"Catch you later." Borin waved without turning back, and then left the room.

"Who's yelling?"

Ziva's eyes fell on her partner again. His eyes were still closed but he was frowning with more irritation than she thought she had ever seen on him before. She pulled the visitor chair over to the side of the bed and took a seat. "Me," she told him. "Go back to sleep."

In direct defiance Tony opened his eyes and blinked a few times as he tried to focus on her. "You," he said.

"In the flesh."

"Watch out for the fire ants."

She knew he was probably talking drug-crazy, but she couldn't stop herself from glancing around the room. "I will," she promised.

"Did they get Borin?"

Ziva shook her head. "The fire ants? No. She left."

Tony sighed. "That woman can talk. And she ate my Jell-O."

"I am sorry to hear that," she told him, hoping she sounded at least mildly sympathetic to his problem. "How are you feeling?"

"Ah-mazing," he told her. "Gonna be out of here tomorrow and then I'm gonna go see John Paulson and punch him in the face."

Ziva nodded. "I might not stop you from doing that. Sacha and Julie have been charged over Will Crawford's death and drug trafficking. However we were not able to charge them with attempted murder."

"Of whatsisface?" Tony asked. "The pink guy who took naked photos of himself."

"No, of you."

"Rightrightright." He gave her a thumbs up and winked. "Good job, Wonder Woman."

She put her hand over his. "If John pulls through we will be able to charge him instead."

Tony nodded for far longer than was necessary. "You know, I would have been so annoyed if I'd died, Ziva."

"Annoyed?" It didn't seem exactly right, but Tony seemed adamant.

"Yeah. I mean, the timing couldn't have been worse. After eight years I get a couple of days with you before life decides that's it? That's all I get?" He switched to shaking his head. "Devote your life to helping other people, and in thanks I only get a couple of days with you? _So_ annoying."

Ziva's thought tightened a little. She'd had the same thought while she was on the boat trying to find him, although 'annoying' wasn't the word she had been thinking of. "Yes," she agreed. "That would have been terrible timing."

He tugged her hand. "I think it'd be better if we died at the same time," he went on, as if this wasn't a completely morbid discussion. To be fair, his drugged up mind probably didn't realize that it was. "I sure as hell don't want to be the one left behind, and I'd feel so bad about leaving you to deal with it."

It wasn't the right time for a serious discussion about it, so Ziva just humored him. "That is very romantic, Tony. We must try to arrange that."

His eyes wandered off over her shoulder as he thought about it more. "Of course, that doesn't leave anyone to avenge my death. And I definitely want that to happen."

"McGee will handle it," she assured him.

Tony made a face that suggested he wasn't convinced. "McGee's not very revenge-y."

She patted his hand. "We needn't worry about it now."

"Where are him and Gibbs?"

"Coast Guard," she told him. "Wrapping things up. Giving Alicia Crawford the good news. They are glad you are okay, too."

Tony tugged her hand. "Then come here."

She dissolved into a smile and leaned over the bed to give him a soft, warm kiss. When she pulled back, Tony patted the mattress beside him.

"I said come here."

Ziva looked at the small gap between him and the edge of the mattress. "I do not think there is space."

"Is too," he insisted. "Come here."

"I really do not think the hospital likes people doing that."

Tony groaned as the ceiling. "Oh my God, where's your sense of adventure?"

Ziva sighed to herself. She supposed it was no big deal. Eventually the nurse would come in and tell her to get the hell out. Until then, they could lie together and she could relax a little after a very stressful day. Tony shifted back a little to make a sliver more room for her, and Ziva carefully maneuvered herself to lie on her side next to him. Her knees bumped into his and she felt like she was about to fall off at any moment. But it made Tony smile so she held on.

"You know the nurse is going to kick me out soon," she told him.

He shrugged. "Let her try," he told her with stoned confidence. "I'll just tell her you're my therapy dog."

She felt her eyebrow arch sharply. "Really."

Tony shook his head and waved his hand before driving it gently into her hair. "No, I mean my really beautiful, human, equal partner therapy dog."

She was impressed by his ability to backpedal even in his state. "Okay."

"Looks-wise," he went on, not realizing (or caring) that he had placated her, "I think you'd be one of those Spaniel kind of dogs with the silky, curly hair and the eyes, you know? But personality-wise, you're probably more like a German Shepherd. Fierce."

"Wow."

"It's a compliment."

Ziva shook her head to herself and stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Despite comparing me to a dog, I am glad you were not thrown in the ocean."

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh my God, you're such a mushy girl right now," he said, and she sighed at his banter even as she smiled at it. He smiled back and stroked his hand through her hair again. "If we're being honest and mushy, I guess I wasn't ready to say goodbye to your face just yet. I don't think I'll be ready for that for a long time."

It felt strange and scary to be so honest about it when they'd spent so long pretending. But it made her smile and her stomach flip in a way she liked. "Good," she said softly. "Because I am not ready for that either."

He grinned and shifted his head closer to hers on the pillow, and gently tugged her hair. "Hey, you want to know what I've been thinking about?"

She wasn't sure that she did. "Um…"

"We're a good team," he stated, powering through her reservations.

"Yes."

"Jellyfish are so weird."

She frowned at the very strange turn. "Okay?"

"I mean as partners and as _partners_."

She blinked and tried to follow him. "You and me?"

"Yeah."

Ziva nodded. "I agree."

He tugged her hair again and looked at her earnestly. "I really, really like opening my eyes to you in the morning. And also whenever now is. Night time?"

She felt a smile melt over her face. "Yes."

"Just generally opening my eyes and seeing you."

"I like seeing you too," she assured him.

He nodded seriously. "How do you feel about jellyfish?"

Ziva chuckled and wondered what it must be like to be in his head right now. "I have no strong feelings one way or another."

"I like being around you," Tony said, turning the conversation again. "It makes me happy. But I worry that we're going to spend too much time together and that won't be good."

As stoned as he was, Ziva was still relieved to hear him say that. "I worry about that too," she said. "So we will make sure to manage that."

Tony's brain turned again. "Do you think jellyfish have, like, feelings and emotions?"

"Why are you thinking so much about jellyfish?" she had to ask.

"There was one on my head earlier," he told her as a matter of fact.

Ziva frowned sharply. "What? On the boat?"

"No, here," he said, and gestured around them. He let his hand fall onto her hip. "They put a jellyfish on my head."

Despite her best efforts, Ziva couldn't help laughing. "That is…strange."

"I thought so," he muttered. "But they were dressed as nurses."

"The jellyfish?" she joked. Tony didn't get it.

"No, the nurses."

"Then they were probably real nurses."

He twisted his lips and then looked at her with a touch of guilt. "I think one of them liked me."

Ziva thought of Borin's comment from earlier, and she stroked his cheek again. "How could she not?"

He didn't seem to get that she was gently making fun of him, and instead tried to prove his loyalty. "I think I want to be with you forever. I'm not sure if I told you that."

She melted a little more and leaned over to kiss him again. "I want to be with you forever too."

"That makes it easier," he said with a smile, but then it dropped. "So, you think jellyfish have emotions?"

"I honestly do not know, Tony."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I'm glad I'm not a jellyfish. I think it'd be hard."

"Probably."

He stroked her hip up and down. "I wouldn't mind being Sean Connery."

"I may have already suspected this."

"But then I wouldn't know you."

"No."

He pursed his lips and weighed that up before shaking his head. "Well, that's just unacceptable." He slid his hand up to her waist and tried to snuggle in closer. "I'm not keen on letting you go."

Ziva shook her head. "I am not keen on that either."

"Let's agree not to."

"Okay," she said softly, and stretched her neck to kiss him again. "I agree."

"I agree." He smiled as his eyes drooped. "I really have to sleep."

She was surprised he had lasted as long as he had. "Okay."

Tony closed his eyes, and Ziva had to wonder how much of the conversation he would remember in the morning. She suspected not much, or at least not the details of it. Perhaps the general gist. And the jellyfish. She smiled and stroked his cheek.

"Can you do me a solid and make sure the jellyfish doesn't come back?" Tony murmured to her.

His eyes were still closed, so Ziva let go of her broad smile. God, she wished she had recorded this as Borin had done. "I promise I have your back."

He smirked with satisfaction. "Yeah, kick ass ninja," he drawled.

Ziva chuckled and brushed a final kiss against his lips. Her stomach tightened, but she pushed out the words that were always just on the verge of passing her lips. "I love you."

Tony sighed sleepily and snuggled towards her. "Jellyfish ninja."

Ziva rolled her eyes to herself, but honestly she liked the way his odd little brain worked, whether concussed and under the influence of prescription drugs or not. Either way, he made her happy, and once he was awake again and fully lucid, she'd tell him so. It was not news to her, but after spending time with the Paulsons and Roses it was crystal clear to her how lucky she was to have him, and how lucky she was that he seemed to love her as much as she loved him. It was truly in her best interests to keep him with her for as long as she possibly could. She snuggled in a little closer and let her fingertips stroke his jaw line. After everything they'd been through, she promised herself as she had just promised him that she would never let him go.

 _The End._

* * *

Oh, except canon Ziva totally did let him go

I remain terrible at replying to reviews but hoped you felt my thanks for them by continuing to write. Big thanks to those of you who took the time; that really did help me finish this.


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